


OSVP The Overhauled And Massively Revised Edition

by Lotornomiko



Category: Valkyrie Profile 2: Silmeria, Valkyrie Profile Series, Valkyrie Profile: Lenneth
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, F/M, Fantasy, I do mean eventually, It is a long slow burn kind of build up to it, Romance, War, some smut eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2019-03-22
Packaged: 2019-06-09 13:08:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 113,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15268170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lotornomiko/pseuds/Lotornomiko
Summary: A massive overhaul of my original story, what started out as an attempt to improve upon and correct word grammar, has since blown out to a full on remake, with thousands of new words of content, as I attempt to flesh out the story better. I feel like when I started it back in like 2010/2012, I wasn't skilled enough for some of these ideas. (See chapter seven especially!) Chapters 1-3 haven't been changed too much, but four and up have, enough to merit it's own post. Leaving the old story up as well.The story deals with Valkyrie sisters torn apart by their king and circumstance, each forced into new relationships and worlds, and coming ever closer to learning the truth behind the lies of Creation. Alternate Universe where there are three major players, Asgard, Nifleheim, and the Undead, the war is about to reach it's boiling point...Lezard Lenneth and Brahms Silmeria are the main pairings.Chapter 12 ending has been revamped and improved on 3/23/2019!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alpha_huntress](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alpha_huntress/gifts).
  * Inspired by [OS Valkyrie Profile](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3958915) by [Lotornomiko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lotornomiko/pseuds/Lotornomiko). 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Standard Disclaimer time. I do not own Valkyrie Profile, and the characters of VP. That honor belong to Tri Ace and Square Enix. I make no money off of this fic either. It's done purely for entertainment purposes.
> 
> The fate of the retired Valkyries are inspired by the game Odin Sphere. The pairing of Brahms and Silmeria is a gift fic thing for my friend Huntress. Hope you like dear!
> 
> This is not only an updated version of my OSVP story, it is one that is more fleshed out and overhauled. While the first three chapters stick close to the original in intent, chapters four and up have gotten a massive overhaul, with several thousand new words added to the overall experience. As such I felt it merited getting it’s own story posting. Keeping the old version up as well...for comparisons, and for those who might have enjoyed the old version.
> 
> \----Michelle

There was the sound of boots crunching down upon a gravel lined path, a multitude of rocky bits being crushed underfoot. The noise of that gravel being disturbed was one that should have barely registered amid the roar of over a thousand voices that were currently raised up in battle. Those screams of theirs conveyed so much, that of challenge, that of victory, and even that of fear. Those voices, their yells, all blended together to the point that one could not pick out any truly distinct words being spoken amid the shouts and the metallic clangs of weapons striking against one another in the midst of battle.

The savagery of that battle did not deter her, if anything it made Lenneth eager to add her own voice to that chaos. Her fingers would actually clench tight on the hilt of her sword, as Lenneth actively imagined wielding the blade, and losing herself to the near mindless violence of the night's fighting. Something like a grim smile briefly stretched her lips, Lenneth continuing her purposeful way down the cliff side. There at it's bottom base was where the figures fought, and it was there that an an all too eager and ever ready Lenneth would go to join them, literally leaping into the midst of that fray. To make such a jump would be careless from her current and lofty height, Lenneth needing to get much lower before she could truly make the dive down.

She wouldn't allow her eagerness to give way to any type of carelessness. That would only lead to mistakes, and on the battlefield, such an error could lead to injury or even death. Neither was what she actually wanted, though to Lenneth, the woman felt that death would be preferable to the suffering that would come from the sustaining of a debilitating injury in battle. A shudder worked it's way through her, one that had nothing to do with the fighting, and everything to do with the thoughts that came unbidden to her. Such thoughts were unwelcome, Lenneth thinking of the reason why she was currently wound so tight and made so eager to fight.

Those thoughts in her head were a persistent presence, her only retreat from them, that of the solace that there was to be found in the fighting. If Lenneth could build up the proper rhythm, she could then block out the thoughts, forget everything but the dealing of death to those who would harm her and those left under her protection. She was actively longing for it, for the distraction, and the solace that she would find going hand in hand with her sword. This desperate a need was what had driven her from the castle, fleeing a sight that was better off forgotten. But even the pathway from the castle to this battlefield was a lot longer than she would have liked, allowing for the flashes of memory that still came to her. Haunting her with the remembered images. That of blood, the crimson liquid splattered everywhere. Of pale blonde hair that was soaked and streaked red with it, a direct result of the victim laying down in an ever widening puddle of it. Of that woman’s skin growing paler by the second, her indigo armor shattered open.

Lenneth would then hiss, finding that she had started gripping her sword ever too tightly. So harsh and unrelenting was her grip, that the woman was sure that the bejeweled decorations that decorated it’s hilt would make a striking imprint on the palm of her hand. She almost didn't care, too busy fighting the memories, and knowing that it was just a few feet more until she could join in on the battle. She tried to keep a particularly upsetting and unwanted thought from her, tried not to focus on the fact that the fighting would be one important combatant short, or how these troops were now lacking one of their most capable of commanders. 

Her focus thus far divided, Lenneth still managed to maintain her awareness to keep up with her intent study of the fighting closest to the cliff's bottom. The two groups seemed equally matched, the Valkyries and their einherjar fighting the undead forces of the Lord Brahms. These particular undead were composed predominately of vampires, but it wasn’t always so. The vampires, like so many of the undead, were often forced to wait for more optimal conditions before they could come out of the holes that they regularly hid in. The ultimate in the vampire’s ideal? That of a night fall such as the one that was currently blanketing the sky, but second best would be the times when the worst of the sun was lost to the overcast of clouds, turning a winter’s day dark enough to serve a blood sucker well for their nefarious purpose. 

That purpose was to remain a constant thorn in the Asgardians’ side, the vampires and the rest of the undead out and about to impede and pester the warriors of the Divine. Signs of their handiwork was laid out every where, the most prominent being that of the flashes of light Lenneth spied winking in and out through out the battlefield. It was the vampires own brand of magic, the undead terrors teleporting to and fro. It was just one of the unfair advantages that these monsters had, these fiends using their powers to vanish before a blade could strike a killing blow upon their body. Such a feat meant that the Valkyries and their einherjar HAD to always be faster than the fanged foes that they faced. They didn’t always succeed at that, but on this night, Lenneth was pleased to see that dozens upon dozen of rotting corpses were already laying down on the field. Her troops were performing more than adequately against the vampire threat on this night.

The Valkyrie’s soldiers might not even have need of her sword, though all knew that they would be a fool to turn Lenneth away. It was with that thought, that the woman finally found herself at a good enough vantage, Lenneth letting out a wild cry as she pushed off the cliff's path. Somersaulting forward, her sword caught and reflected a flash of light. The trained warriors of both sides knew enough not to be distracted by that spark, concentrating instead on the opponents before them. 

A few others cleared out of the way, a spot opening up for Lenneth to land in. With a solid thump, her body was grounded, the impact bringing her knees to nearly touch against the packed dirt. That jarring impact practically rattled Lenneth’s teeth in her jaw, but she allowed no pain or discomfort to distract or to stop her. A split second instance had passed, and already she was lurching upright, sword moving effortlessly in an upwards swing. It caught the vampire that had teleported directly before her right in the chin, a sickening squelch being heard as the blade severed the man's face in half. Blood soaked her sword, but there was no time to clean it, Lenneth pivoting on her heel. Her sword slashed about with her spin, cutting open the stomach of a random ghoul.

Guts began spilling out of that creature, and yet the ghoul still fought. It would take a lot more than disemboweling to kill that particular breed of undead. It's head would have to be taken, cleaved clean off it's neck, before the creature would cease mimicking a life that it had no right to. 

Poison coated claws slashed across her armor. The cobalt blue metal remained unmarked, the ghoul's claws sliding harmlessly off the breast plate. It didn't stop the near mindless monster from trying again, claws slashing, going for the bit of skin between elbow and shoulder that was not guarded by any of the metal. Lenneth was forced to quickly block the claws with her sword, wanting no poison tipped scratch to befall that all too vulnerable skin.

Other fiends rushed her, another ghoul and a vampire. Lenneth could not allow herself to be surrounded, the Valkyrie holding her arm out high as she swung a beheading slash towards the first ghoul's neck. The head went flying, and quickly disappeared among the combatants. She wouldn’t bother to try and track it, not when it was just one more head of many that were being kicked about and trampled on in this field.

Instead she was already turning, her twirling sword attempting to stab itself into and straight through the vampire's chest. The ghoul was doing it's shambling walk towards her, a determined look in it's eyes. A spear suddenly embedded itself in the ghoul's back, one of the einherjar having thrown the weapon in an attempt to distract the creature from the Valkyrie warrior, Lenneth. There was however no chance to issue out a personal thanks, not when in the midst of so intense a battle.

The vampire that was approaching, that had used it’s innate magic to teleport as close as possible to the warrior woman, was a creature of the elder variety. Such age made the vampire female quick with both her teleportation magics and her sharp blade. That sword was coated in the blood of what had to have once been Lenneth’s allies, and it was all to clear that the fanged fiend was just as eager to drive the weapon into yet another Valkyrie’s body. The spike of rage surged stronger, a memory riding on it’s coattails. Lenneth would not allow the fury or the haunting remembrance to consume her, secure in the knowledge that where she herself was concerned, this fight was anything but a personal vendetta for the vampiress. 

Once it would have been much the same for Lenneth, the woman holding no deeper meaning beyond that of her holy and sacred, and divinely sanctioned duty, to color that of the mercilessly efficient way in which she dispatched the many kinds of undead fiends that the Valkyrie had often encountered over the course of her long lived eternity. Now however, there was something vicious inside her, a feeling that had been awakened by a memory that was an all too real and too deep a hurt. The blood pooling everywhere, a gruesome display of carnage that lent a malicious edge to her sword play. The sword of the Valkyrie Lenneth was as brutal as it was fast, not so much finding an opening in the vampire female’s defenses as much as making one.

The vampire's blade broke in half from the force of Lenneth's first swing. The Valkyrie didn't slow down her arm at that happening, instead allowing that speed to drive her sword forward past the shattered apart pieces of the blade, into the very chest of the vampire. That female let out a scream of such immense pain, the blood she had fed on spilling out of her. It weakened the vampire, the woman trying to warp away even as Lenneth performed a downwards slash that caught the female mid teleportation. Such was the ferocity of her wounds, that the vampire was surely done for, no matter where on the battlefield her magic would dump her. If the fanged female somehow survived the trip, the vampire would still be so staggered and injured that she herself would now be an easy mark for any one of Lenneth’s many allies.

There was no need or cause for Lenneth to have to spare any further thought to THAT particular vampire. Not when there were so many of the monsters out and about, a plethora of choices availed before her, the woman charging forward to strike down the strongest one closest to her. She’d pass by many of the einherjar in the process, a rank of warriors that had been culled from the souls of the worthy few, that of the men and women that spanned the many realms’ races. These mortals all held the distinct honor of being chosen by the Valkyrie Goddesses in the name of fighting for Asgard. Though they were a dwindling resource of late, there was still enough that a distinction had had to be made, their armor different enough to give way to rank and accomplishments earned on and off the battlefield. 

The undead legions wore any and everything, from leather form fitted for mobility, to the tattered rags of the lesser of Brahms’ monsters. The one and only shared trait of their uniforms? The dark hues of bold crimson and black. It was a stark contrast to the sight of the Valkyries, each of the divine maiden’s fitted in cold metals made of a refined steel. Colored in similar shades of blue and purple, and adorned with silvers and gold filigrees, each woman’s look was just different enough to make her stand out as uniquely her own. 

With armor molded to that which was the embodiment of physical perfection, these lethal beauties were each crowned with a specific kind of helm. Each one was made of the rarest and most valuable of metal, the feathers of the fallen souls of the einherjar adorning the very winged tips of them. Such a sight made for a pretty picture, but it was only a fool that would be lulled into distraction based on that beauty alone. Not when these women fought just as brave and just as valiantly as the einherjar they had chosen. Courageous and bold, the Valkyries never faltered, never allowed thoughts of death or that of the personal threat of the vampires themselves, to color them with fear. There was only one thing that might make these divine females hesitate in the slightest. The idea of surviving long enough to outlive their usefulness.

It was a universal fact that the Valkyries were immortal females, that these women were minor deities in their own rights. Just as it was fact that little could harm them, save for their unnatural enemies, that of the undead minions of Lord Brahms. The vampires in particular, those fiends who loved nothing more than to get their hands on divine blood in order to drain the Gods and their Valkyrie lessers to death. That divine blood always infused the vampires with a temporary rush of power, heightening already powerful senses, and giving them more strength and speed than they would have normally had. 

A Valkyrie's blood in particular, was a well sought after prize. It was like a drug to the vampires, and those fiends were all too eager to feed their addictions. There was no end to those that would target her for that reason alone, Lenneth snarling a wordless challenge to the next nearest vampire, a man who eagerly rushed forward to cross his blade with hers. The clang of the blades was lost to the deafening roar of the battle, sparks flying as they clashed their swords together again and again.

Lenneth would barely take notice of what her opponent actually looked like. Such details didn't matter in the heat of battle, only survival and victories did. Their swords struck against one another, the two figures rebounding back. The vampire instantly teleported, appearing behind Lenneth as he sought to slash and break open the back of her armor. She turned, finding that her long hair which was tied back so neatly in a braid, was nearly severed free in the process. Several silver blue strands actually fell to the ground, that shining brilliance immediately lost as feet trampled over them.

Another battle cry from Lenneth, the Valkyrie doing a downwards slash that the vampire defended against. His sword arm lowered from the force of her blow, Lenneth preparing to strike upwards when she saw the light reflected in the fiend's eyes. With a gasp, she turned too late, just in time for a dagger to catch her on the cheek. 

Lenneth barely had time to react, seeing the other vampire bring the dagger to his lips, tongue snaking out to taste her blood that had stained upon it. Never taking her eyes off of the fiend who had dared sample her blood, the woman turned her blade, and drove it behind her, catching the other sneaking vampire right through the chest. Such was the force of her thrust, that the blade impaled all the way through to exit out the man’s back, the vampire then gagging and dying a quick, torturous death.

The vampire in front of her seemed to moan, delighting in the blood he had just stolen a taste of. Lenneth didn't know if that thin trickle was enough to give him a boost in abilities, but she knew enough to dispatch this monster and fast. She quickly jerked her sword out of the dead body slumped over behind her, attempting to then stab it forward into the very hand that held the vampire's dagger.

A flash of light left nothing but space for her sword to slash through. Lenneth gritted her teeth together, and whirled around, scouting about for the vampire. He did not appear anywhere near her, the vampire more cowardly than she had first realized. With a disgusted snort, Lenneth brought up her hand to her cheek, using the back of it to wipe the blood off the slow to heal wound. To achieve that effect, the vampire's dagger had to have been one that was enchanted to delay a Valkyrie's natural borne healing powers.

A quick stock of the situation showed that there was no shortage of opponents, even with the one vampire fleeing her. Lenneth made fast work of over a dozen ghouls, to then team up with a fellow Valkyrie to slay a small handful of vampires. Time both slowed down and sped up, the battle ending too quickly for Lenneth's liking. The vampires on this patch of land were now in retreat, and several of the Valkyries took off after them with the einherjar in hot pursuit.

Truthfully, Lenneth wanted to join them in the chase, but a voice had suddenly called out to her. "Lenneth, wait!" The Valkyrie's back was to the voice, but she didn't need to see the Goddess Freya to recognize her. Or her tone of displeasure, Lenneth holding in a sigh. 

"Lady Freya..." Lenneth said, making a show of cleaning off her bloodied and gore covered sword. The leather rag that she used was quickly soaking through with the grime, but the woman knew if she allowed the blood to dry, it would make her sword's blade rust. "What brings you to the battlefield?"

It was a seemingly innocent question, though both Freya and Lenneth knew the reason behind the Goddess' sudden appearance. Indeed Freya was frowning, Lenneth spying that annoyed expression out the corner of her eye. But she didn't acknowledge it, continuing to pretend to be focused on the cleaning of her weapon.

"You know very well why I am here." Freya stepped closer to Lenneth, effortlessly managing to somehow avoid the corpses and body parts that littered the abandoned battle ground. She looked disdainful of the filth, the golden haired Goddess not one for fighting, especially against such lesser beings as that of the undead. That didn't mean Freya was not capable of defending herself, the Goddess holding within her enough power to devastate an entire world. Freya simply preferred to let others get their hands dirty, while she toiled with the behind the scenes details.

It was rare for her to even come out to the battlefield. Lenneth knew she was at fault for this, something like guilt sparking through her. But it wasn't enough to get her to apologize, Lenneth staying focused on her sword. When it became apparent that was all she was going to do, Freya sighed.

"It is not your duty to be out here, not on this night especially."

"I go where my sword is needed." Lenneth finally answered her.

"You go where Lord Odin commands. Need I remind you of that?" demanded Freya. 

"I know that." Lenneth replied, her tone quiet. 

"And yet you still purposefully left the castle!" Freya let exasperation creep into her voice, Lenneth at last looking at her. "Lenneth, why? Your sister Hrist well has the situation in hand. Even now the vampires are being routed from the land that borders the castle's walls. She'll have them so disoriented and confused, that they won't even notice your absence from the battlefield."

And that was the real purpose of this latest skirmish. To distract the vampires long enough for Lenneth to escort a most precious cargo from within the castle. She almost flinched then, thinking of just what that precious something was. And with it came the memories, the bloodied hair, the broken armor, her younger sister Silmeria laying in an ever widening pool of her own blood.

"I am not abandoning my duty." Lenneth insisted out loud. "I know Hrist is to lead the distraction. But as we are not to leave until tomorrow morning, I don't see the harm in releasing some pent up energy this night."

"You are supposed to be resting." Freya pointed out. "Conserving your strength for the journey. You will not serve anyone well if you are too tired should a fight be brought before you…"

"I will never be too tired to fight." Snapped Lenneth. "Lady Freya, you needn't worry about me. I will do my duty, even if I don't like what I must do." That last bit softened Freya's expression, blue eyes warming as she gave Lenneth a sad attempt at a smile.

"I understand this is a difficult time for you and your sisters. But especially for you, Lenneth. For you were always the closest to young Silmeria. But really, it is for the best."

"The best?" Anger seeped into Lenneth's voice, the emotion so violent that she nearly trembled with it. "The best for who?!"

"Your sister for one." Freya retorted. "She can hardly be expected to return to her duties in that condition."

"I know that...." The memory of Silmeria's broken body made her shudder, Lenneth lowering her now clean sword. But she didn't sheathe it, ever conscious that at any moment a vampire could appear before them. She had to remain ever vigilant, even as she fought and railed against her sister's fate. Against the fate of all Valkyrie who fell in battle, but slipped death's embrace.

"Would you have her remain here in Asagrd?" Freya questioned her. "Would you have her bombarded by constant reminders of a life she can never return to?"

"No…"

"Then do not begrudge your sister her fate." Freya told her. "Silmeria is accepting of what must be done. Why can't you be?"

"I don't think it's right...to tie her to a man..." Lenneth spoke quietly, but firmly. "To one she does not know, let alone love.…"

"Lord Rufus of Alfheim is a fine man, a capable warrior, and a just ruler. He will not be unkind to her." 

"He better not be! Or he will face the combined wrath of myself and our sister Hrist!" threatened Lenneth. "I will not tolerate my sister being mistreated, no matter by whose hand it is!"

"Calm yourself Lenneth." Advised Freya. "Lord Rufus would not dare harm Silmeria. She will live out the rest of her life as a cherished wife." And there it was, yet another reason for Lenneth's anger. When a Valkyrie was injured on the battle field, hurt to the point that they could no longer fight, they were retired. But it went beyond a simply setting down of one's arms. Odin had made a decree, to reward capable warriors of several of the nine realms with Valkyries as their brides. The battle maidens were rendered mortal, made Goddess no more. It was said that the Valkyries and the warriors that they wed, produced the strongest and best fighters to ever exist in all of the realms. Those warriors usually became einherjar for Asgard, the daughters of the Valkyries gaining their mother's immortality and the abilities that went with it. The cycle would continue, never ending for all time. Lenneth knew that one day she too might be so unfortunate as to be injured in battle. She prayed that when and if that were to happen, the vampires would drain her to death, rather than allow her to suffer life as some, as ANY, man's bride.

"I still think that it's wrong." Lenneth said at last. "After all her years of service, Silmeria should at least be allowed to pick her own husband!"

"You can rail against that fate all you want, but you cannot change what is to happen. No one can."

"Lord Brahms would if he could." Lenneth blurted out, thinking of the undead King. The vampire had an unnatural lust for her sister, Silmeria. It was the main reason why Hrist was engaging the brunt of his army at this very moment, all to keep the vampires distracted from when Silmeria would leave the castle. They all expected the vampires to make a move against Silmeria and her escort, to try and capture the former Valkyrie alive. Lenneth shuddered to think what Brahms would do once he got his hands on her sister. It was almost enough to make the Valkyrie think any man would be a better choice for Silmeria than for her to remain and fall prey to that of the undead king.

"That fiend will not get a chance to try anything!" Freya hissed. "Silmeria will be delivered safely to Lord Rufus' keep, and Brahms will be none the wiser until it is far too late." Lightning seemed to crackle across the sky, Lenneth shivering in response to it. She sincerely hoped that Freya would be proven right about that much at least.

"Now cease these delays, and return to your sister's side at once." continued Freya, her voice harsh with that command.

"Yes, Lady Freya." Lenneth sighed. The Valkyrie knew that she should be grateful for the chance to see Silmeria. After all, she didn't know when or if she would ever get the opportunity to visit with her once she was established in Alfheim.

Freya nodded her approval at Lenneth's acquiescence. And then she was turning, intent on leading Lenneth back up the cliff side’s path. Lenneth was moving to follow her, when she felt it. Eyes on her, the Valkyrie stilling for one brief moment. Freya noticed her lack of movement, a quizzical look in her eyes as she spoke. "What is it Lenneth?"

"Don't you feel that?" Lenneth was already pointing her sword, fighting the tremble that wanted to go through her. "Those eyes...staring at us…"

"There's no one here..." Freya pointed out, and Lenneth shook her head.

"I can feel it!" She turned to scour the landscape, but as Freya said, there was no one near to them. And yet she couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, Lenneth shivering. The sensations associated with the look was that of someone staring into her very soul, as though their gaze was stripping away her armor to see the woman beneath it. It was an unsettling feeling, Lenneth not used to being looked at in that manner.

"Show yourself!" Lenneth demanded, pleased her sword arm did not shake. She wondered if it was the vampire who had tasted her blood, the fiend’s hunger for more driving him to return for another attempt against the battle maiden.

Freya was besides her now, slipping into a defensive posture, gold ether sparking in her hands' palms. But there was no one to fight, and though the sense of being watched continued, even Lenneth was forced to concede that there was no one there.

"I'm sure it's nothing." Freya eventually decided. She would lay a hand on Lenneth's armor encased shoulder. "You are just too stressed over your sister's fate."

"I'm not imagining things." Lenneth insisted. Yet she had no other proof that anyone had been about to watch them. She still couldn’t sheathe her sword, keeping a firm grip on it's hilt as she followed Freya up the cliff side. The path at it's top would lead them to the castle, Valhalla a welcome sight that almost had Lenneth scurrying forward to get inside. The oppressive feeling of being watched left her once she was indoors, and only then did Lenneth relax enough to put away her sword.

"Go...speak with Silmeria." Freya advised her, giving her a slight push in the direction of the Valkyrie's chambers. "Cherish this time, Lenneth." The woman added. 

"I will." Promised Lenneth, giving a respectful bow to the goddess, before hurrying away. It wasn't a long walk to the chambers designated to the Valkyries, especially given the fact that no one dared to approach Lenneth. They simply saw the determined look in her eyes, and wisely kept any questions or demands for her attention to themselves.

Not even five minutes later, she was before her sister's chair, Silmeria smiling up at her. But it wasn't a Silmeria she was in any way used to seeing, the pale blonde hair tied back with ornate barrettes. The young Valkyrie was dressed in a simple night gown that was made of a lavish amount of silk. It draped down to her ankles, it's sleeves extending only to her elbows.

No blood was on Silmeria at this time. She had long since been cleaned up. But Lenneth knew under the night gown was numerous bandages, wrapped around her torso, to cover and guard the stitches on her back. It had been an enchanted blade that had slashed open the young Valkyries' back, spilling her precious blood all over the ground. The enchantment on the blade had prevented the Goddess' healing powers from working, leaving Silmeria in an immense amount of pain. Even now she could barely manage the slightest of movements without the pain flaring, and as such was unable to continue to do her duty and fight any longer.

Numerous herbs were being given to Silmeria to deaden the painful sensations. And yet Silmeria's blue eyes remained bright and clear, the young woman’s mind not addled by the drugs. She smiled at Lenneth, ever so happy to see her sister. Lenneth found it difficult to return the smile. She had to fight to keep the sadness from out of her eyes as the Valkyrie Goddess knelt down before her sister.

"Lenneth.." Silmeria said, reaching out with her right arm. She laid her hand on Lenneth's cheek, the very one that bore the cut from the vampire's dagger. "You're hurt."

"It's only a minor scratch." Lenneth told her. "It’s pain doesn't even register."

"Have you been to a healer yet? Perhaps Lady Eir could help hasten your recovery." Silmeria was concerned, hovering a finger over the thin cut.

"I will see her soon enough." Lenneth promised. But she didn't care about being healed, more concerned with her sister and her well being. "How are you feeling?"

"As well as can be expected." Silmeria sighed. "I'm sick of the herbs and potions they ply me with. They taste awful, and work almost too well. To the point I can't feel anything at all." 

"It's only for a short while." Lenneth said, speaking on what she knew of Silmeria's treatment plan. 

"I fear I will never not know this pain." Silmeria confided, and Lenneth fought not to show how horrified the idea of that made her feel. 

"Maybe we should wait on delivering you to your husband to be." Lenneth suggested. "If you are still in so much pain…"

"Lord Rufus will not wait forever..." Silmeria replied. "And I would rather get this over with, sooner rather than later." 

"It's just not fair..." Lenneth whispered, Silmeria still touching her cheek. "Why you?"

"I was careless on the battlefield. I let the vampires surround me..." Lenneth shivered, knowing that the vampires could have done a lot worse than they had. Before they could even try, Hirst and several other Valkyries had then leapt to Silmeria's defense. Not many of the vampire had survived the massacre that ensued within that hour, but it had been too little, too late, the damage already done to Silmeria.

"You weren't careless, you were outnumbered!" Came Lenneth's protest. It earned a smile from Silmeria, the young woman dropping her hand to her lap.

"You were always quick to defend me…"

"My sword is yours." Lenneth said. "Now and forever…"

"Your sword is Odin's." corrected Silmeria gently. "Never forget that."

"I don't know if I want to fight for the man who could so easily give away my sister!" Lenneth snapped, but she wasn't angry at Silmeria but at Odin and the situation that they all found themselves in. Even worse, Silmeria looked shocked at what Lenneth had just had to say. "I...I, forgive me..." She lowered her eyes, feeling properly abashed.

"Do not blame Odin. He is merely doing what he has always done for the Valkyries who cannot fight any more…"

"How can you be so...so calm about this?!" demanded Lenneth. "Why do you not fight against your fate?!"

"How can I? What can I do in this condition?" Silmeria shook her head, pain briefly glinting in her eyes. "Besides....some good can come out of this sacrifice of mine. I can make a good alliance between Asgard and Alfheim through my marriage to Lord Rufus. So you see...I still have some purpose to my life after all…"

"You've always had purpose! Regardless of your condition!"

"But it has been renewed in a different manner now." Explained Silmeria, just as a knock sounded on the door. Lenneth rose up off her knees, calling out in a commanding voice.

"Who goes there?"

"It is I, Frei." It was the goddess Freya's younger sister, which wouldn’t have truly surprised Lenneth given the night’s circumstances. "May I come in?"

"Yes, of course." Answered Silmeria, and the door then opened. A petite sized Goddess was revealed, dressed in a forming fitting brown tunic. She carried something in her hands, some sort of vial with a bright pink potion sloshing about. "More pain medicine from Eir?" sighed Silmeria.

"No...this comes from Lord Odin himself." Frei walked towards them, her normally bright and cheery face looking sad. 

"Lord Odin?" Lenneth gasped, realizing what the potion had to actually be. "So soon?"

"Silmeria must make her choice now." Frei said. "If she's going to enter the enchanted sleep, she must do so soon..." 

The enchanted sleep was a spell that the retired Valkyries sometimes made use of. It forced them into an unnatural slumber, the maidens sleeping until awakened by a kiss. That kiss damned them to love the person who had administered it. To some Valkyries it was a blessing, to instantly love the man they had been given to. But not all saw it that way, and not all took the potion. It was always left up to the individual Valkyrie to decide. Most chose not to take the potion, not wanting their love to be a manufactured illusion. 

The love that the potion infused the recipient with, was all consuming. The Valkyries afflicted with it, tended to devote their entire being to their husbands. It seemed a terrible way to live, to be under a man's thumb so completely. Lenneth glared at the potion, focusing all her hate on it in the moment.

Silmeria was also looking, Frei trying not to fidget under the two sisters’ combined stare. And then the blonde was gesturing for the Goddess to approach her, Lenneth's lips setting into a disapproving line as Silmeria reached for the vial. "Such a small but powerful thing..." Silmeria mused, holding the vial up so it caught the light of the room. "Able to change the course of one's heart…"

Lenneth wanted to beg Silmeria not to take the potion, but knew that it wasn't her decision. If the enchantment could make this aspect of Silmeria's future any easier, who was she to begrudge her sister love? Even if that love was fake? 

"Lord Rufus is a good man, is he not?" Silmeria asked, and Frei nodded in answer.

"By all reports he is." 

Silmeria uncorked the vial, holding it up to her nose to sniff at the contents. "A good man.." She began to tip the vial over, the potion spilling not into her mouth, but onto the floor. Frei gasped and took a step forward, Lenneth putting out an arm to stop her. "Deserves better than a manufactured love."

"Silmeria…"

"I will go to him without the enchantment." Silmeria announced. "If it is meant to be, he will earn my love over the course of our marriage."

"So be it." Frei sighed, and Lenneth nodded in approval. Silmeria then dropped the empty vial on the floor, her strength seeming to have left her. "It's been a long time since any Valkyrie has chosen to enter the enchanted sleep. I should not be surprised at your choice."

"No, you shouldn't." Silmeria had closed her eyes, leaning back in her seat. 

"Sister....you should rest now. We have a long journey ahead of us, and will be leaving early in the morning."

"A good idea Lenneth." Silmeria said, still keeping her eyes closed. It seemed as if she was ready to sleep the night away in this seat of hers. Lenneth hated to rouse her, but the Valkyrie was insistent that Silmeria get some sleep in an actual bed. As such, Lenneth and Frei both offered support to an unstable Silmeria, helping her to walk to her bed. Silmeria was almost asleep the instant after she was laid down, Lenneth gazing down fondly at her as she smoothed back her younger sister’s hair. 

"You should get some sleep too." Frei said. "You'll be leaving at first light…"

Lenneth nodded. They intended to leave as early as possible, wanting to put as much distance as they could between here and the vampire's camp. They all suspected that the vampires would make another attempt on Silmeria, and were desperate to keep that from happening. If there was one good thing about Silmeria's marriage to Rufus, it was that it would keep her far away from Brahms. And that notion gave Lenneth some small comfort, the Valkyrie finally retiring to her own bed chamber. She wouldn't have been able to sleep as easy as she did if Lenneth had known of what disasters actually awaited them on the morrow.

 

To Be Continued!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter updated Sept 12, 2017. Over several hundred words added, in my attempt to make corrections, fix the flow of the story, typos, that sort of thing. 
> 
> Chapter updated again on January 9, 2018. Did some more….fixing. Not sure how many more words were actually added. Hopefully this is the final major revision.
> 
> July 12, 2018...Decided to bite the bullet and make a separate entry for the overhauled version. I feel like enough is changed and fleshed out, that it merits it’s own posting. Will be leaving the original up as well, for those who want to compare the old version to the new one. Please bear in mind, the first three chapters haven’t been changed much overall, but chapters four and up each have had several thousands words worth or work done to them.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> \----Michelle


	2. Two

It wasn't the best day for traveling. That much had been apparent when dawn came and went, and barely a sliver of sunlight could be found. The sky was overcast, crowded with storm clouds that ranged in color from dark grays to hostile near blacks. Between the clouds and the early morning fog that had just rolled in, Lenneth was sure something unnatural was occurring. She simply refused to believe that their luck was that bad otherwise.

With little light and low visibility, it was the ideal conditions for the vampires to attack in. Such a thing was not lost on any of the divine party, an air of unease infusing them all. Lenneth had wanted to call off their travels, and not just from a purely selfish standpoint. She felt it too dangerous to travel on a day like this, but other factors were just as insistent that they leave at once. Her sister Hrist well had the vampires distracted, the battle being driven away from the castle’s surrounding lands. That offered a slim window of opportunity for Lenneth and her entourage to escort Silmeria from it, and all because the undead would not fall victim to the same tricks twice.

Their reinforcements would soon be coming, the undead legions of Brahms would be determined to take back every bit of ground they had thus far lost to the Asgardians. It had to be now or never if Silmeria were to flee to her new life and home. If there was one thing that Lenneth could take comfort from, it was that Silmeria would be safe in Lord Rufus' keep. She'd be away from the fighting, and the vampires, and most importantly, Silmeria would be safely free of the obsessed reach of Lord Brahms.

Lenneth tried not to shudder with her distaste whenever she thought of Brahms and his unhealthy interest towards her younger sister, Silmeria. It was unnatural, this lust he has had for Silmeria. A vampire shouldn't desire anything from a Valkyrie, save for the blood that coursed through her veins. Brahms however wanted more than that, could have and indeed HAD taken blood from any other Valkyrie that had ever crossed his path.

Brahms alone was such as to be responsible for countless deaths among the Valkyrie ranks. He could and did kill without mercy, without hesitation, only growing his power with every death added to his tally. And yet there had been something about Silmeria that had been different enough to stay his hand. Silmeria had never elaborated on her few chance encounters with the undead king, save to mention how disturbed that the vampire had made her. Lenneth thought she might never pry the true story from Silmeria's lips, she was that closed off when it came to the subject of Brahms.

That Brahms had allowed his vampires to so savagely attack and injure Silmeria, troubled Lenneth greatly. What sort of monster would allow that to befall the woman he so desired? Lenneth wondered if she'd ever get a chance to ask him about that, or if she would slay him before he could utter out even one word. Of course, Lenneth might be deluding herself in thinking she could take down Brahms. He was after all, the strongest and most ancient of the undead, holding his throne not just with the strength of his powers and keen fighting intellect, but that of his age and the wisdom that came from an eternity of experience.

With Brahms in her thoughts, Lenneth turned in her saddle, glancing behind her for reassurance. The carriage that was Silmeria's mode of transport continued to roll steadily along the dirt path, it’s two mares plodding along at a steady clip. To the front and behind the carriage was several Valkyries, each one seated on an impressive sized stallion. The horses that the Valkyries rode upon were bred for war, holding a strength and speed that was only rivaled by their hearty endurance. These magnificent steeds could and most often did travel long distances without tiring.

There was fifteen horses in all, the others being used by high ranking einherjar. The rest of their entourage was on foot, and lagging behind the last of the horses. There was still another contingent of einherjar ahead of this party. They worked to prepare the path Lenneth and Silmeria’s group would travel upon, cutting down low hanging branches, and making sure there was no fallen trees to block the road up ahead. They would even check to make sure that there were no traps or ambushes laid out, and waiting, ready and willing to dispatch any and all attackers that might seek to way lay the main party.

So far they had done good work. To the point that the entourage hadn't had to stop even one time. Lenneth was satisfied with the progress that they were making, the party fast approaching the Forest of Spirits. Already in the distance she could make out the first of the trees that crowded together to form the forest. It wouldn't take much longer to reach them, though the traveling through them would take at least a day.

There was an Elven settlement within the forest. Those elves were well prepared to receive Lenneth and her sister, holding fresh horses for the advance party’s few riders. It was also there that the main party would break to camp briefly. Lenneth understood that many in her party would need the rest, her sister Silmeria most of all. Her sister was too weak and in pain to ride directly on a horse, the girl having had to take many herbal tonics just to weather the bouncing about her carriage was doing. Silmeria took this all in stride, not offering any complaints though all that jostling had to be causing her so much pain.

Lenneth's hands tightened on the reigns of her horse. That and the tensing of her lips was the only sign that betrayed her upset. She then let her horse fall back from the front of the escort, drawing instead to the right side of Silmeria's carriage. Once they had left behind Asgard and it’s borders, Silmeria had been allowed to draw back the curtains of her carriage's windows. There wasn’t as much reason to fear her being seen in this forest, as much as they had on the golden plains of Idavoll.

"How are you feeling." Lenneth asked, gazing into the carriage's window. Silmeria eased herself closer to it, giving a weak smile to her sister. Lenneth studied her for any signs of discomfort, noting Silmeria had her golden colored hair tied back with a pale blue ribbon. She wore a dress that was colored in white with a blue trim that matched the ribbon, and made her eyes all the more brighter. Silmeria however, looked far too pale for Lenneth's liking, and her eyes were feverish. No doubt from all the pain potions she was needing to take to endure this trip. Lenneth wanted to glare, but it was not to Silmeria who her anger was directed towards.

"I will be better when our journey is ended." It was as close to an admission of pain as Silmeria would give her, Lenneth's knuckles turning white from how tight she then gripped the reins in response.

"We'll rest once we're within the forest's confines." Promised Lenneth. 

"Are you sure that is wise? We should at least push to reach the village first." Silmeria suggested.

"We are making good progress. An earlier rest won't hurt us much." Lenneth countered. Silmeria looked as though she doubted that, but was too weak to properly argue with her sister. Indeed she was already closing her eyes, seeming to sag in her seat. Lenneth thought to move on, to give her the rest she so desperately needed when Silmeria spoke again.

"Will you be staying for the ceremony?"

That question gave Lenneth pause, the Valkyrie not having thought much to what would happen after she delivered Silmeria to Rufus. "Would you like me to?"

Silmeria opened her eyes then, her lips seeming to tremble with the effort of smiling. "You're my sister, and one of my dearest friends. Of course I want you there."

"Then my return to Asgard can wait." Lenneth told her, offering a smile back that was just as weak in strength. She couldn't feign real cheer at the thought of watching Silmeria be given to a man to possess, even if that man was rumored to be as kind hearted as Lord Rufus was said to be. Nor was she ready or eager to abandon Silmeria so completely to her new life as a bride. And if it would help the young woman to have Lenneth attend the wedding ceremony, than nothing on earth or in the heavens would keep the Valkyrie from her sister's side.

"Thank you." Her sister's gratitude was worth a million smiles to Lenneth. The Valkyrie thought Odin could be damned if he would begrudge her the chance to say a long good-bye to Silmeria. Lenneth would just have to make him understand how she had had to remain in Alfheim long enough to see Silmeria married. If Lenneth could have, she would have remained even longer, all to make sure her sister was settling into her new life with ease.

"There is no need to thank me." Lenneth replied. "I am glad to do this for you."

"You have my thanks all the same." Silmeria told her. 

It was enough to make Lenneth flustered, the Valkyrie giving a shake of her head. "Rest if you can." She told Silmeria, and then snapped the reins so that her horse trotted fast once more. No one commented on Lenneth's return to the head of the entourage, indeed there was little talk going on at all. The three Valkyries that rode with Lenneth and Silmeria were in somber moods, privately lamenting the fate that befell so many of the fallen battle maidens inevitably. 

The einherjar were also relatively quiet, focusing more on walking rather than chatting with their fellow comrades in arms. The quiet was good, for it drew less notice to the party, and what noise they did make was hidden by the constant rumble of thunder. The storm wasn't that far off now, the only question was of how severe the rain would actually be. One Valkyrie kept glancing up at the sky, a frown on her face. It seemed that Lenneth wasn't the only one to think manipulative magic had had to do with the storm.

"It's a bad omen Lenneth." She muttered, and another Valkyrie called out.

"It's just a storm, Gwendolyn."

"It's more than that. Can't you feel it?" Gwendolyn demanded. Lenneth found herself nodding in agreement, and was chilled by Gwendolyn's next words. "There's death on the horizon...I am sure of it…"

"What do you sense?" Lenneth asked, but Gwendolyn shook her head no.

"It's just a feeling...we should have never tried to make this journey."

"Come now, Gwendolyn. You'll spook our troops if you continue to speak such nonsense!" Gwendolyn shot a poisoned filled look at the Valkyrie who had said that, her lips thinning as she pressed them together in a disapproving frown.

"It'll be fine." Lenneth tried to sound reassuring, knowing as leader of this entourage, she couldn't let such doubts fill her people's minds. Gwendolyn let out a sigh, but was otherwise quiet. The other Valkyries followed suit, silence reigning over them once more. In the distant they could see the forest's edge, trees crowded in close, but not so close as to keep the horses and carriage from being able to fit in between them.

Lenneth had mixed feelings to see that forest. It was all because she knew that would be an ideal place for a vampire's ambush. Between the mist, clouds, and now the covering of the tree's foliage, it would be optimal conditions for the vampires to emerge. Now more than ever, Lenneth wished for the clouds to part, for the sun to shine through, and cast down it's devastating light. Only then would she have peace of mind, this uneasy feeling lost to the bright rays of the sun light that meant a fiery death to any and all vampires who might dare venture out at this time.

But her wish would go unanswered, and soon the path led into the forest. They could see the work of the advance party of einherjar, the path clear, and marks engraved into the trunks of trees that lined either side of it. The marks spoke of a dozen things, keeping the Valkyries apprised of the advance party's progress. The einherjar were at least thirty minutes ahead of Silmeria and her escort, and Lenneth didn't expect to encounter them until they had reached the Elven village.

Which is why it was so unexpected to see one of the einherjar standing in the middle of the path a scant ten minutes later. The man was clad in gray chain mail, an iron mask pulled down over the front of his face. The mask hid all details from them, including the color of the man's eyes. Lenneth guided her horse towards the man, instantly suspicious. There was something off about this situation, and she found herself drawing her sword long before she had reached the einherjar.

"What's going on?" Lenneth demanded. "Why are you just standing there? Where is the rest of the advance party?" He said nothing, which angered another of the Valkyrie, the woman drawing up besides Lenneth's horse.

"What are you doing?! Answer her!" She snarled, her own sword also already drawn. It was then that it happened, the man teleporting away just as a spear went flying through the space he had once occupied. Lenneth reacted on instinct, realizing that was no man but a vampire dressed in the armor of an einherjar. She jerked on the reins of her horse, the stallion rearing up on it’s hind legs. It was that that saved the horse, though the Valkyrie besides her wasn't so lucky. The spear slammed into her ride's side, the horse letting out an unnatural scream, a sound that spoke of it’s pain and it’s encroaching death as it went down hard to the ground.

The Valkyrie cursed, then cried out in pain, her one leg trapped under the horse's side where it had landed from it’s toppling over. She was effectively pinned, and trying not to panic at the vulnerable state that it had left her in. Einherjar were swarming about the path, some staying with Gwendolyn to guard Silmeria's carriage, others running towards Lenneth and the trapped Valkyrie.

"It's an ambush!" A man cried out the obvious, an arrow embedding itself deep in his throat a mere second later. Lights flashed, vampires teleporting onto the path, Lenneth then losing herself to the battle. She dismounted from her horse, and charge the closest vampire. Behind her, a trio of male einherjar were trying to defend the pinned Valkyrie. From the Valkyrie's screams, she knew they had not succeeded, Lenneth shuddering. There was no time to see what the vampires were doing to her comrade, Lenneth too busy attacking any and all vampires she could get in reach of.

More lights flashed about the enclosed woods, the vampires coming in waves, overwhelming the entourage’s much smaller numbers. They hadn't been able to take as large a contingent of einherjar as Lenneth would have liked, not without drawing attention to just who they were transporting. It now worked in the vampires’ favor, almost ninety on the battlefield to the thirty einherjar that had accompanied the four Valkyies.

It didn't mean the einherjar fought any less valiantly. They gave it their all, willing to toss aside their lives for the chance to defend their precious cargo. Lenneth was often seen stepping over the vampires she had dispatched, all the while trying not to lose herself completely to her anger and panicked emotions. It took a real concentration to keep the worst of her fears at bay, the Valkyrie having to expand real effort to focus on her next opponent without being driven to distraction by her worried thoughts

Her worry wasn’t eased by the fact that not all the vampires were that of the elder variety, Certainly her latest victim was that of a lesser vampire, one that barely registered on the power scales. It was not difficult to get her blade inside the man's chest, splitting his heart into pieces in the process. 

She would then barely get her sword free, Lenneth locking eyes with yet another vampire, a female, when she heard the sound of Silmeria’s scream. It was an ear piercing shriek, the former Valkyrie alerting all to her trouble. Lenneth wanted to turn and see, but the vampire woman rushed her, sword aimed to take the Valkyrie's neck. Lenneth knew the vampire was just another in a long line of distractions, and that this woman was one she couldn't afford when her sister was in need of help. Lenneth put up her sword, defending against the coming blow, and kicked out with her right leg.

"Lenneth!" It was Silmeria's voice, the young woman sounding desperate. Lenneth could hear the cursing, for somehow Silmeria was making it difficult for the vampires to take her. Lenneth was as proud as she was worried, knowing in Silmeria's pain filled condition, she'd be no match for even one vampire. But before she could rush to Silmeria's side to help, Lenneth had to dispatch the threat in front of her.

The vampire female had been momentarily staggered by Lenneth's kick. The metal greaves that Lenneth wore on her feet gave the kick an added jump to the pain it could inflict. But the vampire pushed past the pain, to swing her sword again and again, Lenneth hastily twirled her sword to the left and then the right, to block each thrust as it came for her. The exchange continued like this for several excruciatingly long moments, the vampire thrusting, and Lenneth defending against each of the blows. There was little opening to do more than defend, and Lenneth was growing desperate.

"I don't have time to play with the likes of you!" Lenneth snarled, still parrying every thrust. She kept looking for her chance, but the woman was moving with the near blinding speed of an elder vampire. Her snarled out comment just earned a laugh from the female, the woman beginning to back Lenneth up. Lenneth couldn't afford such a move, not knowing where the vampire was trying to herd her to, or towards who.

To that end, Lenneth purposefully let herself fall, her sword still moving to defend. The instant that she hit the ground, her free hand closed around dirt. The dirt was flung up and into the vampire's eyes, the female screaming as she went blind. The sword continued to thrust, and Lenneth rolled to the left, the sword being shoved deep into the ground where she had just been. Lenneth quickly did a kick out with her legs, jumping upright and turning. Her sword caught the vampire in her side, the dress splitting, and blood spurting out. Lenneth immediately pulled back her arm, this time aiming for the injured vampire's neck.

The vampire's head went flying, the fiend’s blood splattering everywhere, even on Lenneth's front. But Lenneth didn't care, turning to seek out Silmeria's carriage. She caught a brief glimpse of her sister, being dragged free of the carriage window. Silmeria had formed fists, and was beating them against the vampire's chest. He had a harassed look on his face, even as he effortlessly pulled her free. 

"Silmeria!" Lenneth was rushing towards the pair, shoving friend and foe aside. But a light flashed, the vampire teleporting away with his prize. Lenneth screamed out a no, and spun on her heel. She was running for her horse now, and Gwendolyn had joined her.

"Where are you going?!" Gwendolyn demanded, but Lenneth didn't pause.

"The vampires have to have made camp nearby..." She was already reaching for the saddle of her stallion, hauling herself upright in one smooth movement. 

"You can't go alone!" Gwendolyn protested. Lenneth didn't pause, not even when hoof beats sounded behind her. It was two horses that had joined hers, Gwendolyn and the third Valkyrie following her. Lenneth felt admiration for their courage, knowing they were risking a lot in coming with her to the vampire's camp. The einherjar that were still alive were fighting desperately against the vampires, but clearly losing. It was a brutal massacre, one that would end soon enough. Lenneth knew she couldn't make a difference here, but she could at least attempt to save her sister from Brahms.

"Thank you." Lenneth shouted to the two Valkyries that had chosen to accompany her. She barely registered what they said in return, Lenneth riding her horse hard. The stallion had yet to be winded, hooves tearing up clods of dirt as he ran faster than the wind. Her braided hair steamed out behind her, Lenneth still gripping her sword in one hand. She was almost careless in her haste, and all she could think of was that she had to get to Silmeria and fast.

The horses broke into a clearing, jumping over bodies that lay strewn haphazardly on the path. Lenneth could hear the Valkyries behind her gasping in horror, for it was their advance party of einherjar that had been so recently slaughtered. Blood was everywhere, splattered on the trees, puddles of it on the ground. The vampires hadn't had time to feed, instead just killing indiscriminately. It was a horrible sight, and yet Lenneth could do nothing save to ride past the bodies. 

She continued to ride, muttering urgent pleas to the stallion to go even faster. She could barely concentrate save for the fear she still felt for Silmeria, and roughly twenty minutes would pass before the trio would come upon the vampires' camp. It was a hastily constructed one, only a few tents had been set up. Not all the vampires had returned, but there was enough to give the Valkyries pause. Not Lenneth though, the woman screaming out a challenge and charging her horse forward. 

The stallion leapt over the heads of the vampires, their claws and weapons striking upwards. The horse whinnied in pain, it's stomach being torn open by the attack. Lenneth was already forward leaping up out of the saddle, only to find herself surrounded by a circle of vampires upon landing. But she barely took notice of them, her eyes registering a keenly felt and stricken horror at the sight of the large vampire who stood with his back to her.

"Brahms!" Lenneth snarled, and stabbed her sword behind her. A vampire was impaled, Lenneth giving her sword a vicious twist as she continued to glare at Brahms. He was holding onto something, a person by the looks of it. Though all Lenneth could currently see was a pale skinned arm that hung limply at it’s side. Brahms was hunched over the form, and from the sounds that she could hear, Lenneth knew that the vampire Lord was in the midst of feeding.

Stomach turning, she pulled her sword free, only to have to slam it into the next vampire. And then the undead King was turning towards her, Lenneth sure all the color had just fled from her face. "Oh, good Gods, no!" She whispered, staring at the young woman in the vampire lord's arms. 

Long, blonde hair that had come free of it's ribbon, with strands of it clinging wetly to her neck. The hair couldn’t quite hide the puncture marks there, not the marks and not the blood that was continuing to well out. "Silmeria..." Lenneth murmured, pointing her bloodied sword at the vampire lord. "How dare you!!" 

"Keep her occupied." Brahms' voice was a low rumble that moved the vampire throng into action. The other two Valkyries were fighting the vampires outside the circle, leaving Lenneth to face a dozen on her own. She fought like a woman possessed, her energy renewed. Lenneth’s only thought was all that the woman knew, the idea that she had to get Silmeria back from Brahms, and that she couldn't allow him to defile her sister any further. But the vampires might as well have been a hundred, all of them teleporting about her, striking fast and furious. It further enraged Lenneth, the vampires not trying to kill her, instead just working to keep her from their master and his prize.

She could hear the sound of another’s feeding, as well as the screams. Gwendolyn was crying out in pain, the other two Valkyries' fight not going well at all. Lenneth could do nothing to aid her two comrades, still trying so desperately to reach Silmeria. Occasionally she managed to kill a vampire that lingered too long between teleportations, but ultimately they were doing nothing save to tire Lenneth out.

"You're too late battle maiden!" A vampire heralded the sudden sounds of the group's laughter filling the circle. The vampires all seemed to back away from her, allowing Lenneth her first real sight of Brahms and the unconscious Silmeria in a while. Blood was welling up on a cut on Brahm's chest, and Lenneth nearly vomited when she saw Silmeria's lips were painted crimson from it.

"Oh Gods no..." Lenneth whispered, the woman’s free hand coming up to press a fist against her mouth. Brahms had done more than defile her sister, he had turned her into one of his own kind. This was beyond anything Lenneth could have imagined, a blasphemy of the worst kind. 

Brahms was staring at her, his face unsmiling. He wasn't gloating of his victory, not yet at least, but the vampire king also wasn't repentant of what he had done. Lenneth's mind was reeling, all she could think was that she had to get Silmeria back, one way or another. To save her from becoming one of the monsters that they had fought against for centuries. Even if to save her ultimately meant taking her sister's own life.

Her thoughts must have shown on her face, Brahms was handing the unconscious Silmeria to one of the other vampires for safe keeping. Before the act was completed, Lenneth was screaming out a challenge, rushing towards Brahms. She barely registered that the other vampires weren't trying to stop her, nor did she noticed the way Brahms had slipped into a defensive stance. All she could focus on was killing the vampire king, and taking back her sister. 

Her sword went straight for Brahms’ heart, Lenneth noting he bore no weapon other than his deadly claws and sharp fangs. She didn't expect such an easy victory though, not with a vampire as ancient and as physically powerful as Brahms was supposed to be. He proved his strength by stopping her sword with just his bare hands, catching the flat of the blade in between his palms.

Lenneth gritted her teeth, and fought to pull her sword free. The vampire Lord did a twist with his hands, blade nearly being pulled out of Lenneth's grip. She quickly tightened her hold on her sword's hilt, even as she aimed a knee for right between Brahms' legs. He might have been an undead monster, but there was more than enough feeling down below, the vampire howling in rage. He followed up that howl not by hunching over in pain, but by back handing Lenneth across the face.

She thought she saw stars, actually turning from the force of his blow. She quickly swung out with her sword, even though she had yet to recover. His arm came up, letting the sword rebound off his wrist gauntlets. Lenneth quickly slashed upwards, trying to catch him in the face, but Brahms let himself fall backwards to avoid her sword.

"Undead fiend!" She hissed, advancing towards him. "Abominable monster! Give me back my sister!"

"Your sister is lost to you, Valkyrie." Brahms retorted. "Now and forever more."

"Never!" Lenneth screamed, though she knew his words to be true. For even if she somehow killed Brahms, and fought her way past all the vampires, what fate was left to Silmeria now, except to die by Lenneth's sword? That was the only choice left to her, the one and only mercy, and it was all to save Silmeria from becoming the monster that Brahms wanted her to be. "You won't get to enjoy this victory. I'll make sure you are nothing more than a stain on my sword before this hour is up!"

"You are no match for me, child." Brahms taunted her. "Not now, not even if you live a thousand years more!"

"I won't know unless I try!" Lenneth retorted, fighting not to give in to the hopelessness of the situation. She began thrusting her sword forward again and again, aiming for any and all vulnerable points on the vampire. The undead king moved even faster than any of the elder vampires she had ever faced before, always blocking her sword's strikes, and even getting in a few punches in on her. They hit her in the stomach, and in the arms, and even once a blow to the face. It stunned her, and made her arm too weak to hold up her sword, though Lenneth kept on fighting, even as her arm came close to breaking under Brahms' assault. 

Behind her, she could hear the sounds of feeding. Her Valkyrie comrades had fallen prey to the vampires. It only increased Lenneth's upset, and she made a desperate swing for Brahms' thick neck. He blocked that with such force, that she was knocked back, her arm stunned from the fingers to her shoulder. And still she tried to stab her sword one last time, only to have the vampire sweep out her feet from under her with a kick.

With a startled cry, Lenneth hit the dirt, Brahms landing on top of her. She glared up at him, his claws at her throat, gripping the soft and tender flesh there. All it would take was him to pull, and her throat would be ripped free of her flesh. Lenneth felt despair settle in her all the more strongly, knowing she had failed her sister for the last time.

"Get it over with then!" Lenneth hissed at Brahms, her fingers having gone limp around her sword. Someone snatched it away from her, but Lenneth didn't take her eyes off the undead king's face.

She tensed up, waiting for the killing blow but Brahms was staring down at her with a considering look. "You're Silmeria's sister, aren't you?" He then asked, and Lenneth was shocked that he knew even that much. "It would upset her if I killed you…"

"Killing me will be the least of your problems if my sister rises as one of the undead!" Lenneth snapped, and was enraged to see a faint smirk on his lips.

"She will rise, and after a time, Silmeria will come to accept what has happened to her. It is inevitable…"

"You're mad if you think my sister can ever accept being made into one of your creatures!" Lenneth retorted. "Lord Odin will not stand for this indignity! He will not allow you to get away with this!"

"He will have no choice!" roared Brahms. "Tell your King I have taken your sister as my wife." Lenneth's eyes went wide with astonishment, the woman’s heart beating faster in her chest. "He'll have to find someone else to marry the elf." His smirk became more pronounced, Brahms mocking. "You think I did not know Odin's plans for her? I knew everything! Nothing gets past my spies!"

"You.…"

"I waited a long time for your sister to be in a prime position to be vulnerable. You have my gratitude for delivering her to me. But that gratitude can only get you so far." He slowly released his hold on Lenneth, getting up off her. "Return to Asgard. Tell Odin of everything that has happened." Lenneth started to glance in the direction of the vampire who had taken her sword, but Brahms chuckled. "We will not be returning your sword to you."

It was a feint on Lenneth's part, the Valkyrie suddenly lunging to her feet. In the process, she palmed the dagger that was hidden under her armor’s long pleated skirt, pulling it free of the leather sheathe strapped to her thigh. She worked to stab it into the smirking vampire Lord, but Brahms was not caught unaware. The last thing she saw, was his fist coming towards her face, and then all went black, Lenneth being forced unconscious.

 

To Be Continued.…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated with a few hundred new words on 12/13/2017
> 
> Michelle


	3. Three

Nearly two days would pass. Two long and grueling days that had been only exacerbated when the storm that the clouds had been threatening the forest with had finally broke free. With a great sky rending crack, the waters had then fallen. It was cold and it was brutal, the rain a torrential down pour that soaked through to just about everything. Even the dress that she wore underneath her armor, the water seeping in through the openings about her neck and her shoulders. Lenneth was thoroughly soaked within minutes, frozen and made absolutely miserable though the rain could not sour her mood any further. Not when she knew that her sister Silmeria was lost to her, lost to them all.

It was almost enough to make Lenneth weep, with tears that would be born of the rage and the helplessness that she had felt, the fear that she still harbored for her sister's soul. Sometimes Lenneth would wonder if she wasn't already crying, her cheeks wet not just from the rain but with her anguished tears. She’d never know for sure, anymore then she would make a move towards wiping her face dry, always instead sitting rigid in the saddle of her horse, staring straight on ahead.

Her grief, her fear, even her anger. They all worked together to make progress difficult. Lenneth felt it in her every act, the woman second guessing herself constantly. It was a war of what she should do, versus her irrational wants. How the Valkyrie tortured herself as she fought to drive her horse forward. To bring to an end her long travels was pure agony when every fiber of her being urged Lenneth to turn back. Something inside her screamed at Lenneth. Screamed at her to go off in hot pursuit of the vampires and the sister that they had stolen from her. 

She wasn’t as far gone as that. Not even Lenneth’s grief could blind her to the harsh truth of the matter. The utter futility of such a move. Lenneth knowing that she needed to get reinforcements, that of the dozens upon dozens of Valkyrie maidens and a small legion of their einherjar. Only then might the divine forces stand a chance, only then might they be able to hold off the vampires long enough for Lenneth to retrieve her sister. 

The Valkyrie maiden tried not to think on what she would have to do once Silmeria was back under her care, Lenneth feeling a shiver go through her. Silmeria was no doubt transformed after tasting Brahm's blood, the young woman neither a Valkyrie Goddess nor the mortal female that Odin’s will would have had her remain as. Instead Silmeria would now be Brahms’ undead bride, a vampire whose very existence offered Lenenth only a limited window of chance to save her sister’s soul. There was no helping the existence that she had become, Silmeria lost to her, to them all. The slim chance for her immortal soul however still existed, still gave Lenneth some twisted form of hope to cling to. For she knew that long before Silmeria killed and drank of another creature's blood, the young woman would have to die a second time. To let otherwise happen, would leave Silmeria damned for sure, the consumed blood of her victim the catalyst for untold blasphemous evil. The worst was that Lenneth wasn't sure how much time she had left. How long before her sister, Silmeria, could no longer hold out against the unnatural thirst that all vampires’ harbored within them?

Time and grief working against them both, it was a bitter pill to swallow, the knowledge that Lenneth would have to hurry to save her sister, Silmeria, from eternal damnation through the very act of ending her life. There would be no no joy in the killing of Silmeria, although some part of Lenneth’s soul would find solace if the act prevented her sister from being forced to spend an eternity killing. That unquenchable thirst would drive her to it, the blood of the inhabitants of the nine realms needed for the woman’s very survival. The only possible way that this could be made any worse, was the idea of Silmeria spending an eternity blaspheming at Brahms’ side.

Lenneth hoped that Silmeria would be able to fight him, and to resist the temptations that Brahms and that of the blood that would call to her now. The Valkyrie nearly let out a sigh then, lips tightly pursed together as the woman’s hands gripped a harsher rein on that of the horse she had borrowed. This mare was nothing like the stallion that Lenneth was used to riding, being instead a dappled gray and brown mare that lacked the sturdy strength of the war horses that the Valkyries normally rode. But of the fifteen horses that had been brought as part of Silmeria's escort, none had survived. Not the four stallions of the Valkyries, not the two mares that had dragged Silmeria's carriage forward. And certainly not that of the mixed breeds that the einherjar had rode upon.

What had happened in the forest clearing had been a brutal slaughter, a calculated carnage that left no one from Asgard alive, not even their animals. No one alive that is, save for Lenneth herself, a fact that surprised as much as shocked the Goddess. She still didn't understand why Brahms would have spared her life any more then she could make herself believe that he cared so much about Silmeria as to show a mercy of any kind to Lenneth. It was a cruel kind of mercy though, Lenneth fighting not to growl under her breath, as she remembered neither wanting nor asking for it.

It wasn’t the only thing that she could remember. Lenneth could remember waking up, with more than half the day having passed. The sky by then had darkened even further, night having come at last. Besides her had knelt a woman. Lenneth had immediately known her to be an elf, the green colored hair and the pointed ears of their kind an instant give away. The elf whose name she had learned to be Rosselier, had been crouching down besides her, helping to turn Lenneth onto her back to check over the Valkyrie for any wounds. That Lenneth had sustained none had amazed and astounded everyone. It was an especially miraculous outcome when one took in to account the defiled states of the two other Valkyries found dead nearby, torn apart remains left on the grassy floor of the forest.

 

Lenneth sincerely wished that she could have remained for a proper burial for the Valkyries, Gwendolyn and Jacquelyn, but there had simply been no time. She had had to entrust their bodies to the elves, gaining their promise to not only bury the Valkyries, but to find and do the same to the remains of their destroyed entourage. Not all of the elves would choose to remain behind, though enough remained to oversee and tend to the task that she had asked of them. Instead a small number of the elves had insisted on accompanying Lenneth, and try as she had, the Valkyrie had not been able to think of a reason as to why she’d be able to refuse them this. 

Not when it was their horse she had borrowed, as well as fresh supplies, and the new sword that was sheathed in a scabbard at her side. Rosselier would be among the elves that had insisted on traveling with Lenneth, and it was Rosselier whose healing powers had tended to Lenneth, and helped eased the Valkyrie Goddes to regain consciousness a lot sooner than she would have. The elf’s magic was truly beneficial, and it was for that reason first that Rosselier was a valuable asset to have around. She may not have been a warrior, but as a healer, the elf was a literal life saver.

It was because of Rosselier's magic that Lenneth wasn't in any physical pain. The same couldn’t be said for the pain of her heart, the Valkyrie caught in a maelstrom of emotional agony. Her heart’s turmoil drove her sense of urgency, the doubts that Lenneth second guessed herself with, plaguing her every step of the way. The others pretended not to notice, the elves that had accompanied Lenneth on her return journey to Asgard, numbering as ten in all. They were a mix of male and female warriors, many of whom had large oak carved bows strapped to their backs. It was the chosen weapon of their kind, the elves ready to unleash death and devastation with their arrows. But there was one who differed, who stood out just as much as the healer Rosselier. 

This elf was a man, a warrior bred and born true. He carried a broadsword, the bladed weapon nearly the size of the length of the elf’s body. The warrior positively rippled with muscle upon muscle, his body honed to the impressive size needed to effectively use such a large blade. Thus the man rode upon a large war stallion, the only kind of horse that would have been able to bear the weight of such a giant of an elf.

He had been the second elf for Lenneth to have noticed upon awakening to the worried face of Rosselier. He hadn't been anywhere as concerned as the female elf had been, more annoyed than anything over the situation that Lenneth had barely survived through. That annoyance had turned to outrage when Lenneth had confirmed the fate that had befallen Silmeria. The elves had quickly moved into action, having come prepared for the worse. When Silmeria and her escort had not arrived at the Elven village, a good twenty-five elves had been dispatched. The hope had been that the reason behind the delay had simply been that of the party somehow getting lost. But that hope had been dashed when they had come upon the downed valkyries, Gwendolyn and Jacquelyn's bodies bearing multiple bite marks and savage tears. The vampires had feasted upon them, draining them dry of every drop of blood. Lenneth had been the only one to remain untouched, the only mark from her encounter, that of the bruise on her face from Brahms’ fist.

The elves had been naturally horrified by the massacre, and by the news that the bride for their Lord had been stolen out from under them. They too had turned eager, ready to report to King Odin about just what had happened. There had also been an undercurrent of worry, the elves fearing that the alliance might fall apart with Silmeria having been stolen away. Privately though, Lenneth thoughts were certain that Odin would merely choose to replace Silmeria with some other fallen Valkyrie. It didn’t mean that Lenneth couldn’t understand any less the fears of the elves. After all, the massacre had occurred in their forest, right under their noses. Odin might choose to be insulted by that fact, though there was really little the elves could have done against such an overwhelming number of vampires.

If anything, such an act would bind the elves and the Asgardians together all the more, uniting them against their common foe. This violent act of the vampires might prove more binding than even Silmeria and Rufus' marriage could have been. Especially with the elves ready to lend aid against the vampires to right the wrong done to all involved.

Even with the elves by her side, Lenneth wasn't looking forward to her return to Valhalla. And all because of the colossal shame that would be attached to her name. Bad enough to be defeated by the undead King, to be spared death at his hands, but to lose four of her own kind to his vampires? To return with the news that Silmeria hadn’t been killed, but made into the very fiend that they had fought against for all these centuries? It was unthinkable, and Lenneth couldn't begin to imagine the sort of punishment that Odin would give to her.

Yet Lenneth refused to cower in her seat, refused to delay the journey over the fear of what Odin would say and do. Silmeria needed to be recovered and quickly, the Valkyries and the einherjar of Asgard needed to be made ready for that battle. It would surely be a fight unlike any other they had ever fought, a Valkyrie's soul on the line. It was these thoughts that drove Lenneth to ride her steed faster, a quick gallop that allowed her pull ahead of the elves.

Surprised shouts followed after her, the elves scrambling to keep up with her as their horses made their way across the rickety bridge that covered the gap between canyons. Somewhere ahead of the canyons was a path which led down into the plains of Idavoll. It was there that much of the fighting continued to take place, the plains extending for miles in every direction, including towards the stretch of land that led to Odin's castle.

It would take at least another thirty minutes to reach the edge of the plains, and that was with working the horses hard. The poor beasts were unused to such a fast pace, breathing heavily by the time Lenneth began steering her mare off of the path. The elves were not far behind her, though they had ceased their shouts. They knew better than to call attention to themselves with unneeded noise, and even their horses seemed to cease their protesting whinnies as the sound of the battles grew in volume.

The muscled elf drew up besides Lenneth's horse, the man already reaching for the sword strapped to his back. He seemed to be the one in charge of this group of elves, flashing hand signals that had the other elves drawing their bows. Rosselier was lost amid the group, two elves sticking near to protect the healer from danger. The others were already notching arrows against their bow's strings, preparing to unleash them at the first sign of the enemy.

"We move quickly but carefully." Lenneth announced, gaining a nod from the elf besides her. "There is still some time before dawn breaks."

"Our chances for success will be better if we wait until after the sun rises." Noted the closest female elf to her. "We won't have to contend with the vampires then, just the creatures that are theirs to command."

"It's your decision to make, Lady Valkyrie." Noted the sword carrying elf who was waiting besides her. "We will follow whatever you decide."

There was no hesitation in Lenneth now. Not when she was so close to Valhalla. Not when, she knew that Odin had to be informed at once what had gone down in the Forest of Spirits. But more than that, Silmeria's soul was depending on Lenneth. To wait was to risk eternal damnation for the very sister she so loved,

"To battle we go!" To their credit, not one of the elves grumbled a complaint, following after Lenneth and her horse. She had already had her sword drawn and ever at the ready when she burst past the canyon's wall and onto the grassy plains that made up Idavoll.

The grass was tall stacks of gold that brushed the sides of the horse's barrel shaped body. Perfect cover for the ghouls that lay in wait for any who ventured this far out of the main fighting. With hellish screams, they shambled forward, trying to bury their poison tip claws into her horse's skin. This mare wasn't shielded like her stallion would have been, lacking the war horse's body armor. It left Lenneth busy, her sword swinging in constant defense of her steed, lopping off the fingers and the hands that came too close to her and the mare. 

From behind her came the whizzing sound of arrows cutting through the night air. The elves were working to quickly reload their bows, the archers staying well away from the ghouls. The elves’ arrows quickly impaled the ghouls in the eyes and into their open mouths, leaving them distracted enough for Lenneth to come and behead each of them. The elf with the sword was making similar work of the ghouls on his side, heads falling to be lost in the grass and trampled on by both the horses’ hooves and the undead’s feet.

Rosselier's healing magics came into play in a different way. Instead of tending to wounds, that magic became a weapon focused upon a group of zombies that lurched among the stalks. Those rotten, shambling corpses were no match for a bit of cure magic heaped upon them, the creatures dying with the loudest of pained shrieks. Those shrieks drew attention from other undead, the monsters hurrying towards the group of twelve. Lenneth's sword was already covered in a blood that was mixed with gore and a lot of black ichor. Even poison from the ghouls coated her blade, though it had no ill effect on the undead that she was currently battling.

The rain continued to fall, pelting them all mercilessly and without end. It was turning the dirt the grass grew in to mud, making the horses' footing unstable. The mud didn't seem to affect the ghouls for they continued to charge them, and only the beheadings could stop the creatures from their assaults. A scream from behind let Lenneth know that one of the elves had been pulled off of his horse. The poor soul had wandered to close to a group of ghouls, and had not had the chance to fire off his arrows before the monsters had caught hold of him.

Lenneth forced herself not to feel pity for the dead elf, knowing that any such emotion could cause her to become distracted and then suffer a similar fate. Her sword arm continued to move, and it was the blessing of her divine state that she didn't grow tired from the constant use. Heads continued to fly about, Lenneth and the Elven swordsman dispatching all of the ghouls that came within reach.

In the near distance she could see the light of torches, Asgardians using the flames to better see that which with they fought. The undead had no need of the light, their vision such that they could see near perfectly in the dark. But the torches gave her hope, Lenneth knowing their chances would improve if they could reach the other combatants before the undead overwhelmed them here. 

"Head towards the light!" shouted Lenneth, slicing off the wing of small bat like creature. It's saliva was like acid, quick to burn through anything be it living or dead. It was the only reason Lenneth even bothered with such an annoying but otherwise seemingly harmless creature. 

Voices rose up behind her, the elves calling out a confirmation. Arrows continued to whiz past her, slamming into the ghouls long enough to stun and delay them. She quickly finished off the ghouls with her sword, letting her horse trample on the bodies. Rosselier was chanting a healing spell, refreshing their horses' stamina to allow them the extra push needed to continue on.

A horse ran past Lenneth, the animal whinnying in fear now that it's rider had been knocked off it's back. Some of the ghouls would converge on the poor beast, and the sounds of flesh being torn could be heard, the monsters eating the horse alive. Arrows would fly in the horse's direction, one of the elves attempting to put the stallion out of it's misery.

The fight continued, much of the same actions repeating. There was hardly any time to pause, the elves having sheathes of extra arrows fastened to every available inch of their horses’ saddle. It almost seemed like they could go on indefinitely, but Lenneth knew that sooner or later they would run out of arrows. But the lights of the torches were reaching closer, enough that Lenneth could make out the battling figure of another Valkyrie.

"We're almost there!" A female elf cried out, sounding relieved.

"Somajdra, don't celebrate just yet!" admonished another elf. 

"He's right, anything could still happen." The sword carrying elf grunted as his swing took off the heads of two ghouls simultaneously. Fortunately for her side, nothing befell Lenneth or any of the remaining elves, the group charging into the torch lit area of the battlefield. Some of the ghouls gave chase, but the zombies shied away from the light. They quickly disappeared back into the grass, waiting to ambush any one foolish enough to stray away from the light’s flame.

The Valkyrie that was fighting with a group of einherjar was finally close enough as to look familiar. Long blonde hair that held streaks of blood from her enemies in it, shifted wildly about as the woman turned. It was enough so that Lenneth caught sight of her face, a name gasping out of her. "Alicia!"

The Valkyrie Alicia impaled a vampire on her sword's forward thrust, then did her own gasp, one of surprise. "Lenneth?" She seemed to blink in disbelief, even as she let her sword clang with another vampire's blade. "Why are you here!? Where is..." She trailed off, not wanting to alert the vampires to what Lenneth's true mission had actually been.

"He's taken her!" Lenneth said, dispatching a vampire with her own sword. The Elven archers were firing one arrow after another, though the vampires teleported too fast to be pierced by them. "Brahms has Silmeria!"

"No!" That wasn't only Alicia, but the einherjar who cried out in protest. They began to fight even more viciously, as though taking out their anger on the fiends before them.

"I must speak with Odin at once." Lenneth was drawing closer to Alicia, who nodded her agreement.

"Of course." She continued to fight, but her voice was shouting out an order. "Clear a path for the Valkyrie Lenneth and her escort! Let everyone know of her need, and the reason behind it!" 

Already voices were echoing out the orders, along with the news that Silmeria had been taken by Brahms. The word would travel all along the battlefield, both the Asgardians and the Undead learning of the vampire's victory. The news would even reach the ears of Lenneth's older sister Hrist, the black haired Valkyrie then beginning her own fight to reach Odin's castle as quickly as she possibly could.

Little by little, the einherjar and the Valkyries opened a path for Lenneth and the elves to travel through. By the time that they had reached Odin's castle, the sun was cresting over the canyons. The vampires quickly teleported to their hiding holes, leaving only the ghouls and other sun tolerant undead behind to continue to do battle. Without the vampires to help them, the remaining undead would be easy work for a determined Valkyrie and her companions. 

Finally reaching the castle grounds, there was no time for Lenneth to rest. Her horse was just as exhausted as she, it’s steps all a stumble, and it’s skin worked to a fine and wet lather. A Valkyrie was there to greet Lenneth and the elves, and the einherjar that had accompanied her were quick to tend to the thirsty and tired horses that the group had rode upon. It was there that they would go their separate ways, the horses to rest In the stables, while the elves would be offered rooms and refreshment, along with new quivers of arrows to replace the ones they had spent on the battle field.

Lenneth however, had no opportunity for such things. Nor did she have much care for herself, for anything, save that of her sister Silmeria. The Valkyrie rushed up the cliff side path, so fast and so fleet of foot that she might as well have been the very wind itself personified. Odin's castle, Valhalla, was in sight, armor suited einherjar already pulling open the great doors long before the Valkyrie had reached them. She didn't even stop, save to nod a brief thanks to the einherjar, rushing past them and startled Asgardians who had not yet gotten word of her return.

As she neared the great throne room, Lenneth slowed to a more respectable pace. She caught sight of herself in the reflective bronze of the walls, seeing how covered in blood and gore she actually was. She had hardly had the time to clean up and make herself presentable before speaking with Odin, caring little as towards what he might have had to say about her getting blood and worse on his expensive carpets.

There were more soldiers standing guard to the doors that led into the throne room. These warriors hesitated upon seeing Lenneth's disheveled state. But she fixed them with her best glare, and with a commanding voice ordered them to admit her into the throne room. The guards would then exchange doubtful glances, before squaring their shoulders in defeat. As soon as the doors were open, Lenneth swept by the throne room’s guardians, her head raised up high as she prepared to finally meet with Lord Odin.

Freya was already present, the green clad Goddess standing on the throne's dais with Lord Odin. It was the Goddess who first acknowledge Lenneth, eyes going wide as she watched her approach the throne. "Lenneth! What has happened? Why exactly are you here?!" 

Lenneth reached the foot of the dais' steps, and then dropped to one knee. Head bowed in respect, she kept her eyes lowered as she talked. "There are many regretful things I must tell you, my Lord and my Lady."

"What is it Lenneth?" Odin asked, leaning forward in his seat. "Why are you here and not with your sister, Silmeria?"

Lenneth exhaled slowly, that deep breath buying her a few precious seconds of delay. "I won't beat around the truth. I'll tell you straight out that Silmeria has been taken. Lord Brahms knew of our plans, and laid in wait for my sister." Freya had then gasped out a horrified no, and something like a growl would escape Odin’s throat. "The entire escort party was slaughtered, including the three Valkyries that had accompanied my sister and I."

Odin gave no reply, not a single word or gesture that would let Lenneth know when she could finally stand. There was no other choice but to remain in that respectful kneel, with her eyes lowered to the floor. "There's more…"

"More?!" exclaimed Freya. "I shudder to think what else there could be!!"

"Brahms...he...he's fed on Silmeria." Lenneth fought not to grimace at the memory that those words had conjured. "But what's worse, he forced her to drink of him. He's made her into one of them...said she was to be his bride..." 

Not a sound was heard with those words spoken, the quiet lasting long enough that Lenneth nearly risked looking upwards. She tried not to fidget in place, waiting for something, anyone to break that stunned silence. 

"Lenneth....this is terrible news that you bring me." Odin said at last. She nodded quickly in response. "I don't know yet what will be the repercussions of Brahms' actions. Never has a Valkyrie been turned into a vampire before. I know not what chaos this will cause, only that this is an unforgivable act."

"Yes." Agreed Lenneth. "We have to work fast, my Lord. We have to move to retrieve Silmeria, to save her soul before she feeds for the first time. I am prepared to go and lead the einherjar to the vampire's castle...just give me your permission and I will do this at once."

More silence, Odin letting out a heavy breath. "I don't think this is a task that is suitable for you." 

"My Lord?"

"Tell me, my Valkryie. What happened? Why did the vampire lord allow you to survive what was other wise a massacre?" Odin questioned. 

Lenneth felt humiliation burn in her cheeks, the Valkyrie glad that her head was still lowered. "He let me go."

"Let you go?" Freya sounded disbelieving of this. 

"It was meant to curry and be a favor to my sister, Silmeria." Lenneth quickly explained. "He said it would upset her if he allowed me to be killed."

"Really now...how...odd." She heard the rustle of fabric, Odin rising from his seat. "And you what? Just turned tail and ran?"

Lenneth gasped at that, so indignant and upset that she looked up at the approaching God without receiving his permission. "I would never abandon my sister to the likes of him!" She hissed, not caring if her tone was disrespectful. "I fought Brahms. Fought him in an attempt to gain back my sister, even knowing the only comfort I could give her then was to end her life! It was not through any act of mine that prevented me from following after the vampire lord and his undead minions." 

"Are you saying he rendered you incapable of following him?" demanded Odin. 

"Yes." Lenneth nodded. "He knocked me out with a mighty blow. I might still be unconscious if not for the elf, Rosselier's healing magics." She fixed Odin with an earnest look. "I wanted to go after him, but knew I was ill equipped on my own. I needed reinforcements...the warriors and the supplies needed to make the long journey to the vampire's castle. I am here to ask you for those things."

"You expect me to entrust more Valkyries and einherjar to you?" She nodded again at that. "After you allowed the last group under your guidance to be so ruthlessly slaughtered?!" Lenneth paled at Odin's words, her mouth dropping open.

"I...I did not…"

"How many of my Valkyrie did you take with you?" He demanded. "How many died, dined upon by the vampires? Vampires who even now must be flush with their divine blood, and fight on the battlefield, taking more lives?!"

"It was three....Lenneth and Silmeria were accompanied by three Valkyries." Freya murmured, and Odin's glare became more pronounced.

"Three!? Three Valkyries lost to us on what was to be a relatively easy transport mission."

"With all due respect my Lord, it was never considered an easy mission. My sister Hrist put much on the line to distract the undead from Silmeria's escort." Lenneth retorted. "If not for Brahms' spy network, we might never have gotten into an ambush…"

"I do not want your excuses, nor your what ifs...." Odin grumbled. "You come before me with facts only, and that fact is that your entourage was lost, Silmeria taken and turned into one of those abominations! Valkyrie blood was spilled, those monsters fed upon them! This incident was an unmitigated disaster of the worst kind, and you were unable to do anything to stop it!"

"Lord Odin, might you be placing too much blame onto Lenneth?" Freya asked. "I'm sure that she did all she could do given the situation…"

"And her best was not enough!" roared Odin. Lenneth and Freya both seemed to flinch from his shout, Odin staring down at the Valkyrie. "I can forgive the loss of the einherjar, but with what has happened to the other Valkyries and Silmeria? That is unforgivable!" 

"My Lord...I will accept whatever punishment you deem fitting for one such as me." Lenneth told him, allowing her face to be blank of all her emotions.

"And punish you I shall." Odin told her, then turned to Freya. "Go. Fetch me my potions." 

"Potions?!" Freya gasped, and shook her head. "Isn't that too extreme a punishment for this?"

"Lenneth failed me." Odin hissed. "But not just me, but her sister and the three Valkyries under her lead." Lenneth flinched at his words, but knew them to be true. "An example must be made of her. To show what will happen to any other Valkyrie who would fail me in such a manner. Now go Freya, do what I command of you or suffer the same fate.”

"Yes Lord Odin." Freya's shoulders sagged, and she gave Lenneth an apologetic look before quickly leaving the room.

"My Lord...if I may..." Lenneth risked speaking to him once more. "What exactly is my punishment to be?"

A grim smile was given her, Lenneth feeling chilled to see it. "What is the fate of all Valkyries who must be retired from the battlefield?" Her eyes widened, Lenneth gasping out a no. She almost rose off her feet in protest, and only Odin's hand suddenly pressing down on her shoulder kept her kneeling. "Yes, Lenneth, you will be Valkyrie no more. You will undergo the customary ritual…"

"N....no...." The floor felt like it had dropped out from beneath her, Lenneth shaking her head in protest.

"Yes. You will enter the enchanted sleep." Odin continued, his hand still pressing down on her shoulder. "You'll be doomed to sleep until kissed awake. And when you awaken, your heart will belong to a stranger."

"I can still fight..." Lenneth began. It was all steel resolve that voiced in her tone, no undercurrents of that inwards desperation or begging to be found. "If you just give me one more chance.…"

"I do not tolerate failure more than once in my Valkyries." Odin said coldly, not looking up as Freya ventured back into the room. Lenneth didn't turn to watch her approach. didn’t take note of the vial of glowing pink potion in the golden haired Goddess’ hands. Instead Lenneth continued to stare up at Odin, a vivid defiance dawning in the Valkyrie’s eyes. "You will devote your life to this stranger that you will love. You will bear his children and grow old with him."

"You can force this sleep on me, but you cannot force me to love him." Warned Lenneth. 

"You are strong willed." Noted Odin. "Maybe even strong enough to fight the effects of the potion. It will be interesting either way."

"My Lord..." Freya stepped into Lenneth's view, the hated pink potion still clutched in her grasp.

"Drink this..." Odin took the potion from Freya's hand, and brought it before Lenneth's lips. She could smell it's sickly sweet scent, and it made her want to gag. "Do not defy me on this Lenneth…"

"I do not seek to defy you, but the potion’s effects!" Lenneth retorted much to Odin's amusement. "Just...just promise me one thing!" Odin was already trying to tilt the potion into her mouth, Lenneth sputtering as she spoke. "Save my sister. Rescue her from the fate that Brahms has cast her into." She was choking on the liquid, the potion burning her throat, and working quickly to weave it’s hated magic upon her. Lenneth's eyes were already drooping closed, and the woman swore that she could hear a voice call out from behind her. It sounded a lot like her elder sister, Hrist, but Lenneth found she completely lacked the strength to turn and see for sure.

She went out with not a scream but a whimper, collapsing to the floor still clad in her blood splattered armor. All Lenneth could think as she struggled to remain conscious was that the task of rescuing Silmeria’s soul would now have to fall on some other Valkyrie's shoulders.

 

To Be Continued…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 9/13/2017: Updated and overhauled. This one was a real fixer upper.
> 
> Michelle


	4. Chapter 4

From off the coast of Lassan, from way out into its distance, past what any mortal man can see, an island exists. This plateau of land, surrounded on all sides by a violent and unforgiving sea, is replete with a wild forest that grows out of any one man’s control. The thickest of trees stand testament to its untamed nature, all ancient and tall, stretching out higher than seemed naturally possible. A thick canopy of perpetual green makes a roof over this forest, blocking out much of the sun and it’s light. It’s a forest full of shadows, an island nurtured by blood, death and magic. Dark, twisted things grow within it’s confines, and the beasts that roam this land, are among the most deadly and dangerous to be found in all of the corners of the world. 

It’s a thriving populace of wild nightmares that exist on this island. So many beasts and creatures that serve many a varied purpose. Chief among them? To play deterrent to ward off any people, especially any HUMANS, that might seek to trespass on this island. 

This island exists on the whims of a delicate balance, a strict chain of command set in place. Everything from the dangers of the wild, to the animals that exist as both guardian and as a food source, to the monsters that walked this land. The ghouls and the zombies, the chimeras, and the wraiths. All manner of wicked creature, everything from the most insignificant of the undead, to the monsters who pressed them under a firm and commanding thumb. 

It was the vampires that ruled here, the vampires who had sought out and carved this land into a safe haven for their own kind. It was the one, the only, place in all of the nine realms, that was a home for them. A place of belonging, a retreat from the world. This island, this home was their base of operation and the only thing of real value allowed to the vampires. This dark paradise, was always open to them, the vampires welcomed back each and every time they were driven off from elsewhere in Midgard and the other eight realms. 

Large as the island was, it still struggled to support the numerous undead that maintained the delicate balance of a savage paradise. Just accounting for the vampires alone, at any odd time, there could and usually were, several hundred immortals in residence. 

These vampires weren’t the uncivilized nightmares that the rest of the nine realm’s people thought them to be. They had a home and they had culture, traditions, and their own ruling systems set into place. Here among the trees, in the very heart of the ancient forest, existed their castle. A castle carved of a stone weathered by both age and the elements, and rumored to be older than time itself. This impressive and large sight, was more city than anything, a mountain range itself having been brought down low, to form the basis of this building.

This millennia old castle was in a constant state of upkeep, the vampires and their servants working on it, adding to and expanding it, often times busy with replacing the most weathered of stones that had been blasted into ruin by friend and foe alike. With this dedicated vigilance, the lesser undead labored to make sure that the outside walls of the castle did not give in to the temptation to collapse.

The castle itself was a beautiful if rickety sight to see. The stones, discolored from the rains, were bronze in color. With heaps of moss and vines growing up the sides of the walls, with night flowers budding on the shadow thriving greenery. They reached as high as the fourth floor of the castle, stopping just short of twirling around to the fifth floor turrets. Between the four corners of the castle towers, the fifth floor opened up onto a roof top courtyard. Many a vampire could be seen up there at any given time of day or night, relaxing in the shade, and holding conversations with one another.

 

At the moment there was no topic as wildly discussed, as that of their King. Of his startling obsession, and the ruthless way in which he had seen to acquiring it. He could hear them, a whole group of vampires up on the roof, holding their own private court, speaking in a hushed whisper that carried easily on the wind down to him. Brahms with his enhanced and superior hearing didn’t even have to strain in an attempt to make out the words. He heard clearly every last one, the lot of them speculating heatedly on the recent events that had brought their lord back from the battlefield. Listening to them was almost beneath him, but more than that, his eavesdropping was helping to pass the time. 

It might almost have been amusing. But the one thing those whispers were not, was distracting. Nothing was, not when he considered the young woman who currently lay asleep in his bed. Even if his crimson colored eyes hadn’t constantly sought out that of her blanket covered form, Brahms would have been aware of her. Of her light easy breathing, of the slow, lethargic beat of her heart, and the sweet, tantalizing scent of her hair.

He couldn’t stop looking at her, couldn’t last for more than a few seconds without marveling, or without seeking reassurance that Silmeria was indeed still here with him. It was as though he feared that she would vanish out from right under him, even though the vampire king knew it would take quite the sizable army to tear her from his side. Nor would he ever allow her to flee from him, Brahms determined that she would remain in his keep for all time.

It was a right the vampire felt that he had EARNED, what with how difficult an endeavor it had been to bring Silmeria here. The operation had been one that had been fraught with peril from all sides, and that included the threat of his own people. Brahms couldn’t help the anger that surged in his heart, each time he thought about what his own vampires had almost cost him. Even now there was that annoyed growl that he had to fight to keep from voicing, the worst of his rage being suppressed so that the only real sign of it was that of Brahms’ fingers clenching on the sill of the window he stood before.

This rage that filled him was a familiar one, Brahms actually frightened at the thought of how close he had almost come to losing the young Valkyrie completely. He could blame that on the careless actions of his own soldiers, the group of vampires that had been personally dispatched to kidnap the Valkyrie from out of the fighting that took place on the battlefield that was the plains of Idavoll. While not an entirely easy task to accomplish, it also shouldn’t have proved so near catastrophic. And yet that is exactly what it had been, that group of accomplished soldiers losing themselves to a blood lust, any semblance of control Brahms had thought to maintain on the situation lost.

It had been an unmitigated disaster. The vampires responsible laid claim to it all being nothing more than an accident, a freak twist of fate. Actually choosing to blame Silmeria for their loss of control, insisting that the Valkyrie had been too wild and unpredictable, too aggressive in her fighting. Claims had come that she had forced their hand, had made them attack and injure her in that great a manner. Brahms could understand a minor injury, one meant to briefly render her incapable of fighting. But what had occurred was far more brutal, the Valkyrie's armor torn open, her blood spilled every which way on the battle field. She had nearly died then and there, and would have if not for the timely intercession of her fellow Asgardians.

Brahms had been beyond livid when he had heard about what had happened, and had grown even more so when he had learned of how debilitating her injuries had actually proven to have been. It should have been no surprise to anyone that he had torn apart several of the vampires responsible for the Valkyrie's near crippled state. Those few that had survived the massacre had been staked, and left to slowly rot to death before the newly risen sun.

His people hadn't understood his upset. After all, what was a few injuries given what Brahms planned to ultimately do to the Valkyrie? They thought he had overreacted to the attack, frowning disapproval and muttering things about how she had made Brahms lose his head. Some part of him wondered if that wasn’t actually true, if he wasn't becoming half crazed and obsessed with the wanting of her. But most of all, Brahms wondered how the others had all failed to miss the point, that of the fact that the Valkyrie could have died long before Brahms could have gotten to her. Before he could have gotten the chance to force the change on her, and make her into one of his own kind. That kind of outcome would have been simply unacceptable, and more vampires would have died at Brahms’ hand during the grief stricken rage that would have surely followed Silmeria’s passing.

It hadn’t come to be. She was safe, she was here, and she had been given the eternal kiss. Brahms kept reassuring himself of these three things, his musings never distracting him from keeping his eyes trained on the young woman’s face. Her chest barely moved, the few breaths that Silmeria did take rasping out between unnatural intervals. It was because the former Valkyrie was no longer alive. Not in the strictly traditional sense of the word. To any who might observe her at this moment, Silmeria didn’t so much as sleep, as mimic that stillness of the newly dead. She would continue to remain that way for a few minutes more of time, the sun not yet set on this, the third day since the pair had fed from each other.

Just remembering that feeding was more than enough to make him let out a moan of pleasure, Brahms running his tongue over his top most fangs' tips. A rumble of hunger worked it's way through him, Brahms thirsting for more of her blood, even though it was surely tainted by now. Tainted as a direct result of the transformation that he had forced on her. The blood of a Valkyrie was always a sweetly addictive taste. This woman’s had proven even more so, and Brahms had actually had to fight the temptation of it. Because just like those vampires, the ones that Brahms himself had killed, the Lord of the Undead might have drank Silmeria to death, and been left with nothing but the memory of her. The sweet tempting blood that would have warmed his veins, would have been a bitter consolation for the woman he would have lost.

The boost to his abilities had been substantial, and even three days later, Brahms was still flushed with the power the Valkyrie’s blood had given him. By all sense, and by the duty that he owed to his people, Brahms should have been out on the battlefields of the heavens right this very moment, using his newly empowered strength to put an end to as many of the long lived Asgardians as was possible. 

It was unfortunate, but that fighting was and had been the last thing that Brahms had wanted to do. With thoughts of his prize, with Silmeria within his grasp, Brahms had instead chosen to rush back to the vampire’s island. He had carried the Valkyrie the entire journey there, the woman cradled safe and secure in his strong arms. Trusting no one else to handle the Valkyrie in this delicate time, Brahms was unable to be put at ease so long as Silmeria was still in the midst of her transformation process.

Brahms could also admit that there was a strong part of him that had simply enjoyed clutching the battle maiden against him, enjoying the way that her frail form had felt in his strong arms. Silmeria had felt like she had belonged in his embrace, like she was the key to that which he had been missing all these long years. There was something about this Valkyrie, something that continued to call to him still. It made Brahms certain that she would be the one to end the loneliness that he had been suffering through as eternity continued to stretch on just short of forever.

He had lived a long life, just how long even Brahms himself could not recall. The endless years had stretched on into forever, time and memories blurring so that even he could not be bothered to remember it all. Nor did he often want to, his a life steeped in such tragedy, so many trials and tribulations. He kept the memories buried, only bothered with the most important of facts. 

He had seen and done plenty, Brahms the oldest of the vampire race. For that fact alone did there exist many a myth and story, gossip and theories abounding about him, even among his own people. Not even they knew the full truth, left to instead whisper stories behind his back when they thought he wouldn’t hear. Some of the stories that they came up with, had amused him, and while some had surprised him with how close to the truth their theories and conjectures actually came. He never confirmed or denied any of the guesses, not even ones that had made him uneasy with how close to the truth they had almost been.

There was so many that abound, so many rumors spread about him, many believing that Brahms was the source from which the first vampires sprang from. Others tried to guess at his true age, many taking into account his strength and his power, the many realms themselves wondering if the Lord of the Undead was not as old if not older then the King of All Creation. Certainly it was whispered that the two were so evenly matched, as to drag on the fight between them for many a millennia. 

No end in sight, and with the start of it shrouded in mystery, the struggle between the living and the dead, seemed a permanent part of the world’s balance. It was even rumored that the conflict had it’s roots stemming from long before the mortals of Midgard had evolved into separate civilized beings.

The mortals were thought to be a huge part of the source of conflict between the Asgardians and the undead. The Gods had never looked fondly on the undead preying upon the race that they had created, the very race that worshiped the Gods and looked to them for guidance still. Just as the undead did not appreciate the Gods interfering with their food source, the mortals able to sustain several different types of undead through either the taking of their blood or with that of their flesh.

Both the Gods and the Undead sought to bolster their armies through the mortals, humans being taken to become einherjar for the Asgardians, or alternatively made into some hellish kind of undead creature. It kept the war going, and it would surely continue for as long as there was mortals to fight with and over. The mortals were a race that should have been considered insignificant, and yet almost everything that had happened, occurred because of them.

Take the young woman in his bed. Brahms knew that somewhere in the distant past, she had had parents. A Goddess who had lost her immortality, and been tied to a mortal man. Both had been warriors and together they had conceived, the child inheriting her mother's immortality and abilities, as well as her father's own strengths. In this particular case, the couple had conceived several times over, creating three daughters who would then grow up to be Valkyries. The eternal battle maidens, who all fought so hard for their King, slaying undead, and gathering up mortals to become warriors for Asgard.

The woman in his bed had been responsible for countless deaths among Brahms' own armies. Her sword had been stained with the spilled blood of numerous undead. She should have been an instant enemy to Brahms, and yet something had drawn her to him instead. That first time he had seen her, a mere slip of a girl garbed in indigo colored armor, should have also been the last. It should have been child's play for Brahms to strike her dead. In fact he had moved to do just that, his clawed fingers flexing in preparation to tear out her throat. But he had refused to attack from behind, waiting for the battle maiden to turn to face him.

That had either been a grave mistake on his part, or perhaps that of his greatest salvation, Brahms catching sight of her eyes. Colored blue, they reminded him of the ocean waters that surrounded his island home, all turbulent with waves of violence. But it wasn't just anger that had festered within them, nor did she wear the typical disdain her kind usually bore when dealing with the undead. Instead she had seemed tired, a weariness that had nothing to do with any physical exhaustion. It was the same kind of weariness that Brahms himself had known all too well, the Undead King having tired of eternity, and having tired of the endless fighting between his kind and that of Odin's warriors.

Of course that alone wouldn’t have been enough to get him to stay his hand, Brahms still having moved to strike down the Valkyrie. Hard and fast had been his intent, but that brief glimpse of her eyes had distracted him to the point he had actually hesitated. It had slowed down his strike, the Valkyrie having had time to bring her sword forward in a defending strike that nearly sliced off his claws and the fingers that they were attached to.

It should have annoyed him. Instead it had nearly stolen a laugh from him, Brahms finding he had been growing excited to fight her. It was not a feeling he had been used to, nor was Brahms accustomed to drawing out a fight, and certainly not for such a flimsy excuse as to hold on to a foreign emotion. But draw it out he had, giving a command that had held back his warriors, Brahms having intended to spar with the battle maiden alone. 

That had surprised her, the briefest flicker of it showing in her eyes. It had made him wonder what she had heard of him, if she had thought him so craven and cowardly as to rely on others to do his fighting for him. In truth he had NEVER been the type of fighter to overwhelm an opponent with the unfair advantage of numbers, and it would have been a sore day in Nifleheim before Brahms himself could not handle one young woman. Even if she was a Valkyrie with eyes that had stirred such emotions within him.

There had been fighting all around them, his vampires and her einherjar battling against one another. But that soon came to an end, the two sides having established an unspoken truce to instead watch over the figures of their commanders doing battle. The vampires and einherjar had kept their distance from each other, one eye at all times remaining on their enemies as with the other, they had watched Brahms and the Valkyrie fight. The battle maiden had had decades, maybe even centuries of practice with her sword, but Brahms? Brahms had had millennia on her when it came to combat. That and the difference in brute strength between them had made them both painfully aware of how unmatched the Valkyrie Goddess was in comparison to the Vampire King.

And yet he hadn't struck a killing blow, more intent on playing with her than anything. Her incensed reaction upon the realization of what he had been doing had amused Brahms, the vampire King thinking it funny when she had demanded he hurry up and finish with her.

"Are you that eager to die?" He had asked her, and something had shown in her eyes then. It had been that tiredness again, a resignation that shouldn't have belonged in her expression. It wasn't that she was suicidal, never that, but something which he had not been able to guess at, had made her weary. Of life, or perhaps of the endless battles that the Valkyries must take part in.

Save for that look in her eyes, the Valkyrie hadn't answered him, not with actual words at least. With a challenging scream, she had thrust out her sword, aiming for his heart. It had been a last ditch move, more desperation than anything on her part. Neither she nor Brahms had believed she'd hit him. If anything, it had been an attempt to anger him enough to finish the fight, to quit his game with her. He had still been taken with her eyes, the blue so expressive in that moment. He had just barely managed to catch her sword in his hand, the blade's sharp edges slicing open the palm so that his blood fell to the ground between them.

They had exchanged a long look, the Valkyrie glaring defiance at him. He had simply plucked the sword free of her grip, and thrown it towards his vampires. Without even pausing, he had then swept her feet out from under her, the Valkyrie having landed on her back hard. He'd drop on top of her, Brahms' claws on her throat, the blood from his hand dripping onto her. She hadn't look frightened, nor had she closed her eyes to block out the sight of what should have been her death leering down at her. Instead she had held his gaze, the striking look in those eyes having challenged him to do it, to end her tiredness.

Naturally her einherjar had grown alarmed at the sight, their voices rising in a panic. They had known they'd never be able to reach her in time, not before Brahms could have ripped out her throat. A glance over his shoulder would have shown his soldiers moving to attack hers, but he had stayed fixed on her face. "I do not understand you." He had ultimately said, his tone of voice had almost been conversational.

"What is there to understand?" She had asked in return. "We are enemies...it is our duty to fight, to continue to do battle until one side is completely wiped out."

"It won't be the undead that dies this day." Brahms had told her. "We are many, and you are but just a handful."

"Others will come to take my place." She had retorted with a sigh. "The fighting will continue....for eternity if need be. It matters not what happens to me...My efforts here, and in the past make little difference in the long run." And that had bothered her, he had read the truth of that plainly off of her honest face. She had wanted to matter, and Brahms had been sure that he hadn't been reading more to it than that. This battle maiden had wanted a reason for her existence, a reason beyond the fighting that she was duty bound to do.

At the time he had thought it a pity that she would never find that reason, Brahms having still been intent on taking her throat. She had meant to be just one more Valkyrie for him to drink to death of, and then a scream had been heard. 

"Silmeria!" 

That scream, the Valkyrie's name, had been followed by an arrow. Brahms had heard it whistling as it had soared towards him, the vampire having been forced to let go of the Valkyrie's throat in order to catch hold of the arrow. A new Valkyrie had arrived, a cold beauty with straight, black hair and a known reputation for being ruthless. That one, that Hrist, had been responsible for an impressive amount of deaths, the woman a veritable war goddess of near guaranteed victory. Was it her appearance alone, or that impressive battle record, that had seemed to galvanize the blond beneath him, this Silmeria having knocked him off of her.

Someone had thrown a sword to her, the Valkyrie having caught hold of it. She had immediately set about to trying to take his head, Brahms forced to dance back to evade both her strikes and the arrows that flew towards them both. The tide of battle had been turned, the vampires having had to flee in the advent of the new Valkyrie and her einherjar. He too had had to leave, and yet he had also paused, just long enough to have held Silmeria's gaze. It had been a charged moment that had made him want to linger, a million thoughts coming to life in his head at that time.

It had been one of his Generals that had moved him, the man having hauled Brahms bodily out of most of the arrows' way. They had teleported just seconds later, but not before Brahms had shouted out to her. "Silmeria! Live! Live and find your reason!"

The shocked surprise that had blossomed on her face had been worth the arrow that had speared him through the left shoulder. The pain of that blow hadn't been enough to keep him from teleporting, Brahms returning to one of the undead's many camps. The Valkyrie Silmeria had been heavy on his mind, Brahms intrigued with her in a way he had never before been with a woman. And even less so with one that was a known enemy of his! 

He had tried to be subtle in his interest, having played it off as though it had been merely a curiosity about an enemy that he had failed to kill. Brahms had let his advisers believe that he was strictly interested in ending the life of the Valkyrie, Silmeria. He had even tried to lie to himself that that was where his true interest had laid. And yet he had been haunted by her eyes, by the expression that the beautiful blue had been colored with, a look that had been the same as one Brahms had often worn. 

It would take time, but information WOULD eventually come. Bits of it here and there trickling in as it had proven difficult for his vampires to get close enough to the Valkyries without it ending in death. Brahms would learn that Silmeria had two sisters, one of which had been the black haired Valkyrie who had interrupted his attempt to kill the blonde haired battle maiden. He would also learn that she was closer to her second sister, the two often seen together on the limited downtime that they had been allowed from the battle field. 

A Valkyries' life had proven harder than he had first imagined, their King Odin allowing little if any breaks from the fighting. It wasn't like that with Brahms' undead, the creatures taking shifts and allowing for enough time between them for each group to suitably rest up. But not the Valkyrie, the battle maidens forced to spend nearly the entirety of their immortal lives out on the battlefield. It was no wonder that Silmeria had seemed tired of it all. She had been out on the battle field as early as the age fourteen, long before her immortality had set in and frozen her at an eternal twenty-two.

That was unusual for a Valkyrie to have been brought into combat at so young an age, but then Silmeria had had two older sisters that she had wanted to emulate. At a time when Silmeria should have been living among the mortals, doing things a young girl should, she had instead been learning about violence and death first hand, acquiring the discipline and the skills need to kill efficiently. She had been put into more life and death situations than any one that young should have been, and by the time she was of eighteen years, she had had several vampires' deaths on her hands. It made Brahms wonder if she had ever gotten to experience anything beyond the battlefield, especially with two older Valkyrie sisters to look up to and idolize.

Of course, in between the bouts of information that he had gleaned from his spies, Brahms would take part in the conflict’s combat personally. Sometimes he would actually catch sight of blonde hair peeking out from beneath a feathered helm, those long strands gleaming like the sun. Or at least, what he remembered of the sun, Brahms not having witnessed the actual rising of one in several millennia worth of time. 

It had been Silmeria who he had seen, though always from a distance, the battle maiden having been fighting with the undead. He had never tried to get near to her, always keeping a distance, though it would have been easy enough to teleport to her and resume their fight. But he hadn’t wanted want to end her life, Brahms sure that it was pity that had stayed his hand, the man wanting her to live for the experiences that she had missed out on. 

Truth be known, every sight of her, every bit of knowledge gleaned, had been feeding into an infatuation with her. More information would come to him, Brahms then learning that Silmeria had a lovely singing voice, even if the only songs she had ever sung were that of funeral dirges at the bequest of Odin. Brahms had found himself yearning to hear her song for himself, and it was that desire that had led him to do something foolish. He had undertaken a journey, one to the heart of the enemy's land, to the castle stronghold known as Valhalla.

Of course, an ancient magic had been employed to bespell the stones against the vampires' ability to teleport inside the actual castle. But they hadn’t been able ensorcell the land around the building, Brahms teleporting in as close as he had dared. He had gone dressed in form fitting black, to better blend in with the shadows. And from them he had crept, darting from one dark corner to another, evading the guards as he had made his way about the castle.

He would find her inside an enclosed garden that had taken up space within the South Western part of the castle. There had been a large stone fountain in the very center of the flowers, with large spurts of water that cascaded down it's many sides. Silmeria had been with one of her sisters, the one with the platinum colored hair who he had known was the Valkyrie Lenneth. It had been a rare moment of relaxation between the two, both battle maidens having removed their feathered helms. Silmeria had had her hands in Lenneth's hair, a careful concentration showing in her eyes as she had worked to braid up that long mass of platinum.

They had talked quietly to each other, much of their conversation having been discussions about battles, and the tactics that they needed to attempt a win against the undead. They had seemed to be avoiding all talks of the ritual that would have soon taken place on that very night, that of the funeral procession that had been set to begin in less than an hour's time. It was because of that funeral procession that Brahms had snuck into the castle, the man intent on hearing the Valkyrie sing for the departed warriors.

Lenneth and Silmeria had talk a while more, though it had been strange talk for two sisters. But he had been quick to realize that to the Valkyries, they had no life other than that of the battle. It had been all either one had ever known, and thus all their topics had been such as to reflect their limited life experience. They had had no mortal ties left, what with their parents having long been dead for centuries. It hadn’t been just their parents, but the people of the village that the sisters had spent their childhoods in. The people and perhaps even the village long gone, and with their passing, went all of the three sister’s ties to the mortal realm of Midgard. 

No friends, no family, and no children of their own, the pair had been as virginal in nature as any other Valkyrie could be. There had been no lovers, secret or otherwise for them to giggle about. Frankly Brahms hadn’t been able to imagine a battle maiden doing something as girlish as that, especially ones as war hardened as these two had been reputed to be.

A gong had then rang, the two Valkyries having glanced up as startled birds took flight overhead. Silmeria would hand Lenneth her helm, the Valkyrie then carefully placing it over her hair so that not even one strand of it was drawn out of place But when she had moved to leave, she had noticed that Silmeria had lingered by the fountain. "Aren't you coming too?"

"You go on ahead. I shall follow you soon enough." 

"If you're sure." Had come the reply, the Valkyrie Lenneth then walking out of the gardens to step into the inside of the castle. Silmeria would then continue to sit perched on the fountain's edge, staring off into the distance. Brahms had thought her lost in deep thought, but the truth would turn out to be far different, the woman having suddenly spoken out loud. 

"I know that you are there."

That had startled HIM, Brahms having shifted so suddenly that his back had hit and disturbed a loose stone in the wall behind him. Pebbles had clattered to the floor, and Brahms could have blushed from his clumsiness. He hadn't expected her to have sensed him, for ANY of the Valkyrie to have even been able to know that an elder vampire, an ancient, was there. Especially not when he had been so determinedly cloaking his energy from them. That Silmeria had, Brahms hadn’t known what to make of it, the thought as surprising as it was pleasing to realize that the woman might indeed be more attuned to him than he had ever dared dream.

"Well? Out with you now!" Silmeria had demanded, her voice having sounded impatient.

He had been more bemused than anything then, Brahms practically having shuffled his feet as he had moved to step around the shadowed corner he had hidden himself behind. As the torch light had brought his features into focus, Silmeria had done something shocking. The young woman had gasped, her eyes having grown huge as she had scrambled up out of her seated position. Her hand had already been reaching to draw out her sword, and it had been clear by the loss of her relaxed energy, that it was not Brahms that Silmeria had expected to see.

Even as he had reacted to her movement, Brahms had had the time to wonder just who she had been expecting. Was she about to partake in some secret rendezvous? One that not even her sister Lenneth had known about? That thought had made something like jealousy spark in him, irrational as it might have been. Valkyries were almost always virgins, their duty to the Gods and to the war such that they had no time or reason to make way for a lover. And yet Brahms had feared that Silmeria might again prove to be an exception, the vampire king dearly having hoped it had not been a lover but instead some messenger that had to do with the endless war. Either way, if someone had come, regardless of their intentions, Brahms would have killed them then and there.

But for that moment he had had to deal with a shocked Valkyrie, Brahms' lunge having put him in reach of her. His right hand had closed around her wrist, squeezing down around it until Silmeria had been forced to drop hold of her sword. As it had clattered to the ground, his left hand had been going across her mouth, in order to stifle her scream. Brahms had known how he could not allow her to raise the alarm that would alert the people inside the castle to his presence here in Valhalla.

Her blue eyes had narrowed into a glare, Brahms having stared back into them. He had had her restrained, but the vampire hadn't known what he had intended to do with her next. Brahms hadn't expected to actually initiate contact with her that night, and he had been loathe to even consider ending her life then and there. For the first time in a millennia, the great undead king had been rendered speechless, the vampire having practically stuttered as he had tried to think of what he could possibly say to her.

She had taken the initiative for him, her teeth clamping down on the inside of his hand. He had grunted, more in surprise than in pain, and more than a little shocked by her audacity. Not many of the Asgardians would have dared risk being tainted by a vampire's blood, and yet she had risked exactly that all in order to dislodge his hand from her mouth. It had been a failed tactic, Brahms instead having squeezed her wrist harder, his strength such that it stopped just short of cracking the bones there.

"You little minx." He hadn’t been able to help but be amused, watching as the anger had filled her eyes. "If you promise not to scream, I'll uncover your mouth..." The poison filled look she had given Brahms had told him that she wasn't ready to give a vampire such a promise. It had seem he'd have to resort to making threats, and as he had prepared to try and scare her into behaving, she had suddenly bit him a second time!

"Stop that!" He had started to snap and then she had kneed him right between the legs! Many of the realms’ varied beings, mortals especially, had long since clung to the belief that the undead, vampires chief of all, were an unfeeling race. That their existence was rumored to be free of all lust save that of blood. So many had thought that the fiends were incapable of true desires. But the hard truth was that they were wrong, no greater a passion to be found than that of a vampire. Vampires not only lusted for blood, they can and did have sex, all of them well familiar with lust and desire and how to use and manipulate it in others. And just as they could feel it’s pleasure, a vampire could also feel it’s pain, Silmeria’s knee having slammed into a part of Brahms’ anatomy that might have been the most delicate.

The pained sensation that the vampire had felt, had gotten Brahms to have loosen his hold on the Valkryie. It had been all the opportunity she had needed, Silmeria using it to jerk free of Brahms completely.

 

Surprisingly she hadn't screamed, instead hauling away from him and having lunged for her sword. He had still been gritting his teeth in pain when he had followed at her heels, reaching for the sword's hilt at the same exact time that Silmeria had. Brahms had been just a second too slow, Silmeria twisting the blade, turning it so that it's pointed tip grazed a slash across his chest. He had had to jump back, eyeing her warily as she had followed after him. 

"Calm yourself, Valkyrie!"

"Why are you here?!" She had hissed out in retort, never taking her eyes off him. "If you think to slay my King…"

"It is not your King that I seek this night..." It had been an admission that he shouldn't have blurted out, and one Silmeria had looked startled to hear. Interesting enough her face had not turned pale, though her gazed had hardened, the Valkyrie then having thrust her sword forward. Brahms had been forced to spin to the left to avoid being impaled, the Valkyrie having passed along the side of him. Close enough that he could have snagged his claws in her hair, but Brahms had resisted that particular temptation.

"If you think to finish what happened that time on the battlefield..." She had pivoted about, already seeking to slash her sword at him a third time. "Know I will not go down without a fight."

"I wouldn't expect any less of you Valkyrie." Brahms had retorted. He had noted then that her lips were stained red with his blood. It had been a sensual, provocative sight, Brahms' own fangs having lengthened in response. His voice had come out husky, he hadn’t been able to resist teasing her then. "How did you enjoy the taste of my blood, battle maiden?"

Silmeria had blinked in surprise, then had hastily brought her free hand up to wipe the blood's remains from off her mouth. "I am no vampire to find enjoyment in tasting such a thing…"

"A pity for you. I know many who would die to get a taste of such a powerful drink."

"All who are damned and deranged, no doubt!" She had retorted, and had struck out again. This time when he had side stepped her, Brahms had caught her left arm, cruelly twisting it behind her back. She had grunted but otherwise had not cried out in pain, attempting instead to twist her sword and drive it back behind her and into him. Brahms had had to grab hold of that wrist too, squeezing it until Silmeria had lost hold of her blade. And then he had twisted the right arm to join the left behind her, Brahms pinning her against his broad chest.

She had trembled in agitation at the position he had held her in, Brahms leaning into her to sniff at her hair. That had instantly frozen Silmeria, her voice having issue out a perplexed sound. "What are you doing?!"

Her voice had called attention to his odd act, Brahms having been caught with his nose buried in her hair. It hadn't stopped him from doing a deep inhale, nostrils flaring as he had caught better hold of her scent. She had smelled very much like the polish often used to clean her armor, and there had been the faintest smell of blood that no amount of washings could ever eradicate completely. Too often had this Valkyrie been showered with the blood of her enemies, and that scent clung to her skin even at Silmeria’s cleanest. But for the vampire, it hadn’t been a turn off. If anything it had aroused him, even knowing that the enemies whose blood had stained the Valkryie’s flesh, was that of Brahm’s own people.

Aroused by it, by HER, Brahms fangs which had already lengthened in reaction to the blood that had been coloring her pretty mouth, had then seemed to throb with a sharp ache. It would have been all too easy to soothe that ache by plunging his fangs into her neck, and gaining the rush of power that would have infused him had he drank from her.

But he had somehow found the strength to ignore that ever insistent thirst within him, instead performing a move that had had Brahms nuzzling his cheek against her soft hair. Silmeria had said something then, had repeated her earlier question. She had been unable to hide her unease, and it must have been a struggle for her to remain so still without even shaking. She had been both prey and predator in the moment, and all it would have taken is one reaction to topple them both towards making her his meal.

"You smell of death." He had finally answered her, but conveniently let off how that scent of hers was arousing to him. "The blood of my people is all around you, soaked into your very skin…"

"You're one to talk." She had quickly retorted, her voice having snapped out angrily. "You reek of blood! Your breath is made foul with it!"

Brahms had felt something like embarrassment then, for he had known that to a Valkyrie the blood smell would not be an attractive quality at all. "I fed before coming here." He had admitted. The position he had had her in, kept him from seeing her face. Had she worn disgust then? He would never know for sure.

Silence had followed those words, brief but lasting long enough to be awkward. And then when Silmeria had spoken, it had nothing to do with his feeding. "You've come here with a purpose. If it's not to kill King Odin...then..." Brahms had felt her tensing up, Silmeria had been preparing to do something, even though he had held both her arms captive in his grip. "You've come to this place for me….”

He had never gotten a chance to deny it, for Silmeria had suddenly driven herself backwards so that her head had crashed into his face. His nose had stung from the blow, the Valkyrie having twisted desperately to get free of him. Even as he had held on to her arms, she had been stamping her feet downwards, the metal greaves she had wore on them having added to the strength to the blow on his foot.

With a curse Brahms had released her but only the one arm. She had jerked violently on the wrist he had still held onto, glaring at him though Silmeria had never actually screamed. He had pulled on her arm too, causing her unwilling form to have ended up plastered against his broad chest. Quickly, he had put his other hand on the back of her head, claws almost having pricked her scalp. She had glared up defiantly at him, Brahms staring down as he made an admission of truth.

"Yes, you guessed it. My purpose in coming here this night was to see you."

Why had been the question in her eyes, but then a voice had suddenly called out. "Silmeria? Are you here?" A second voice soon joined the other, Brahms realizing that both of the Valkyrie's sisters had come looking for her.

Frustration had bloomed in him then, Brahms having not wanted the encounter to end. Silmeria had begun to renew her struggles, actually having pushed at his chest with her free hand. The touch of her hand on his skin had electrified him, Brahms jerking back as though shocked. Silmeria had looked ready to finally scream, and the vampire had been able to sense the nervous energy coiling within her.

"If you do not wish for your sisters to die this night, you will keep quiet about my presence here!" Brahms had hissed at her. Silmeria had read the truth of his words in his eyes. There would be a blood bath in this garden if he was forced to fight her sisters now. She had nodded her understanding, Brahms having then dragged her towards the shadows. Mere seconds later, the two sisters would enter the garden area, looking about for Silmeria.

Silmeria had stopped her struggles, a quiet tension working through her. She had been uneasy, more so for her sisters' safety, than for the fact that she was again in the undead king's arms. He could have lost himself to staring down at her face, but he hadn't let her nearness distract him so completely. Not when her two sisters had been prowling about the garden, the women quickly finding the forgotten helm and discarded sword of Silmeria. 

Those carelessly abandoned objects had been enough to raise the alarm, the Valkyries having then initiated a search throughout the entire castle. The night's funeral procession had been all but forgotten, Silmeria's absence a far greater concern. It would take some maneuvering, but Brahms would manage to escape from Valhalla, and with Silmeria still in his possession. And the entire time, they had traveled, he hadn't known what he was ultimately going to do with her, the Valkyrie that had been his unwilling hostage.

The smart move would have been to kill her, and flee. With her blood boosting his already considerable powers, it would have been far too easy to take down any Valkyrie that might have crossed his path. And yet he had hesitated, and it had cost him, an enchantment being cast that extended beyond the castle walls. It was a temporary spell, but no less powerful than the ones on the stones of the castle. It had the power to prevent vampires from teleporting into the area, or out of it, forcing Brahms to travel in a more mundane way.

He hadn't even been able to steal a horse, all areas of the castle on alert for any suspicious activity. It had left Brahms and his captive to journey on foot, taking a less traveled path away from the castle. He had bound Silmeria's hands behind her back with the cord of his belt and had even gone so far as to muffle her voice with a gag. Of course, once they had been far enough from Valhalla, he had removed it, the vampire wanting to hear her voice even though Brahms thought that all she would do was curse at him.

Their journey had been an odd one, that night seeming to stretch on to infinity. Silmeria had echoed his words from that first confrontation of theirs, telling him that she didn't understand him. Back then he hadn't had a suitable reply, Brahms having been just as confused as the Valkyrie had been as to what he had been doing. He hadn't come to Silmeria with the intent to kill her, and the more time he had spent with her, the further the line between them had blurred. He hadn't wanted to view her as an enemy, and the conversations that they would have, stilted though the talk ultimately was, had only further cemented his interest in her.

He had not gotten the chance to take her back to any of the undead camps. At that time, when Brahms had been at his most indecisive about Silmeria, it would have been sheer folly to take her among his soldiers. They would have demanded her death, and Brahms would have had to comply so long as he had not had a good reason towards keeping her alive.

That night’s unorthodox adventured ended once Silmeria’s people had eventually track them down, at almost the same instant that remnants of his army had appeared. Brahms had been surprised at the reluctance that boiled within him at the reality of parting from Silmeria. As surprised as he had been uneasy with it. Such that Brahms had rebelled against the feelings he had been developing for her, eagerly letting her slip from his grip.

It would take some time for Brahms to come to terms with the feelings, and with what had happened that strange night. But by the time that he did, he would recognize Silmeria for what she actually was. That of a kindred spirit, a soul that matched his. Silmeria had made his heart race, his body having yearned for something more than nourishing blood. And with that Brahms had realized how willing he was to be damned thrice over to possess her.

There would surely be consequence for what he had done, but Brahms was prepared to deal with those. Just as he was prepared to handle his people, some of which were immensely worried over the making of a former Valkyrie into a vampire. No one knew what sort of creature he would have created, and many were uneasy about the idea of a Queen who had once been the death of so many of their own kind.

Brahms knew that he would have to work to quell their fears, to overcome any worries his people might have. But the more challenging task would be that of winning over Silmeria. Of getting her to accept her new life, both as a vampire, and as his bride. He wasn't sure what kind of adversity she would offer him, but Brahms was sure he would meet and succeed at all her challenges.

He could have lost himself even further into the thoughts of both the past and the future he now expected to have with Silmeria, but her rebirth was upon them. The tell tale beat of her heart, weak as it was, fluttered to life with a strength that was growing. It served to let him know that she was about to awaken for the first time as a vampire. His eyes went to her face, noting the slight tan of her skin. It would one day fade to the unearthly pale that nearly all vampires bore, but for now she was still kissed by the sun. Her flesh wouldn't be the only change, her eyes would one day take on the crimson color of all the undead. It was actually a shame, Brahms having liked the lovely blue color of her Valkyrie eyes. But such a change would come, regardless of his wishes, once Silmeria actively began feeding on blood.

He would be there for her first feeding. A vampire's first taste of blood was always such a poignant moment, a significant first step towards accepting their new state of existence.. Brahms intended to be there for all of Silmeria's firsts, to enjoy the highs and the lows of eternity with his new bride. This awakening was the first of them, Brahms having kept strict vigil over her since before arriving at the castle.

Her chest began to move in a steady and pronounced rhythm, rising with a feigned breath as her heart beat began to grow even stronger. When Silmeria's eyes finally began to flutter open, Brahms felt a shiver of pleasure go through him. That beautiful blue that colored those eyes, Silmeria at first seeming to stare straight through him. And then they focused. He began to smile at her, a hint of fang in that expression as Brahms took one step towards the bed. 

"Silmeria...How are you feeling?"

It was all that he got to ask, for she was suddenly lunging out of the bed with the preternatural speed of a vampire. Brahms had only seconds to react, his startled response showing on his face as Silmeria lunged towards him. As her hands went to close around his neck, her nails lengthened into claws. Brahms had just enough time to register the astonished thought that Silmeria was simply too fast for a newly awakened fledgling.

 

To Be Continued…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 9/14/2017 Updated with a little under 2000 MORE words added to the overall tally. This one was INSANE to work on! @_@
> 
> 7/08/18 Cause I can NEVER be happy with my own writing, made enough corrections and tweaks to merit taking note of them. Hopefully for the last time for this particular chapter!
> 
> Michelle


	5. Chapter 5

Silmeria hadn’t had a real thought in what had felt like forever. Certainly she had had no memories, no nightmares and no dreams. Her sluggish mind had simply been too busy and too slow to spare the energy needed to do such a thing, the Valkyrie’s body struggling to not only recover from her latest trauma, but to heal completely ALL the wrong that had ever been done to it. In that dreamless, thoughtless state, her body devoted it’s entirety to it’s self appointed task, Silmeria feeling as though she was floating, surrounded by the nothingness that had manifested itself as a never ending darkness.

In that empty state of existing, when the Valkyrie’s mind finally did form a thought, the mental kick back of stimuli had been downright painful. With that throbbing awareness came a flurry of input,   
an overactive imagining of thoughts, feelings, and memories. This arresting array was indeed too much at once for the Valkyrie, so completely overwhelming that the woman was unable to focus on any one single thing. She still had impressions though, vague uncertain slivers, some so fantastical that it left Silmeria unable to tell just what was real, and was what simply the result of a creative and suddenly active imagination. So fast did these images come and go that Silmeria was left dizzy and breathless, unable to grasp hold of any, the woman confused by the thoughts. 

Faces flickered before her, the men and the women that she was most familiar with. She saw that of her sisters, of Hrist and of Lenneth, one stern the other frantic, and both holding a world of worry and pain in their eyes. They weren’t the only ones. Silmeria saw the faces of her sisters in arms, the many different Valkryie maidens who did not hold a blood relation between them. Names tried to come and go, Silmeria picking out three amongst them that hurt her the most to remember. But she couldn’t fathom the reason behind that particular pain, and all too soon she was lost to the face of another. To that of her liege, the King of all Creation, and ruler of the Heavens. Odin was not among the most friendly of faces, but he was the one who had had the most impact on her immortal career. But there was much she still could not remember, Silmeria simply unable to think straight enough to even try.

Unable to do any more than that, Silmeria could then hear whispers on the edge of her consciousness. She couldn’t quite focus to make out what was being said, the words that lingered just out of her ears’ reach, taunting her with the memories that they might have held. Thoughts simply too unclear, Silmeria’s mind had been dulled for too long, her many memories suppressed as a result of her injuries. By the strength of her pain, by the trauma and severity of the attack that she had once had to endure. Silmeria couldn’t imagine the strength that had taken, or just how she had survived it at all. For right now the Valkryie could not even remember the details of the attack, that and the resulting shock of it swallowed up, the recollection of the days that had followed her fall on the battlefield now nothing more than fragments. But that was nothing new. Silmeria had NEVER been able to remember clearly those first days that had followed after that attack. She had had the pain medications and herbal tonics to thank for that, the haze that they had helped to induce, having left Silmeria incoherent for nearly a full week.

She had needed that break from reality. From the pain and the fact that it would take time to heal the worst of it. She had needed more than just time, many treatments being administered, dozens upon dozen of potent pain relievers and body numbing potions making up the reality that had become Silmeria’s unending days and nights. So constant had the pain been, that the fear on just about everyone’s mind had been that Silmeria would always be afflicted by it. She had actually expected to live out the rest of her life crippled by it, forever dependent upon the potions and various herbal remedies. Even if she had not, even if the pain would someday become manageable, life as Silmeria had known it was changed, her thriving military career over and done with.

For too long had that pain of hers persisted, whole weeks going by, the Valkyrie lost to it. Silmeria’s life had been in a standstill, the woman unable to do much, barely able to live, but also unwilling to simply lay down and die. It had taken time, lots and lots of it sacrificed for little real progress. It was a slow going road to recovery, but little by little, that pain that Silmeria still suffered with, began to get somewhat better. Life became that much closer to tolerable, and as the days had passed, Silmeria had finally been well enough so that a decision could be made at long last. It had been with the understanding that though Silmeria would never make a full and complete recovery, there had still been one last service that she was honor bound to give to her liege. Never again would Silmeria fight for Odin and his kingdom, never again would she physically see to the safeguarding of the nine realms. But there was another way, one last duty that Silmeria was still capable of performing, her body still viable as being something other than a Valkyrie.

The details of Odin’s decree were worked on and ironed out, Silmeria having learned that she was to be given away to some man. But not just ANY man, but a king in his own right, Rufus of Alfeim, the lord who ruled over all of the fae and that of the elves. That she would be given up as part of an agreement to maintain a truce between the two kingdoms wasn’t that surprising a decision. It was an absolute truth that Valkyrie Goddesses were a high quality of women, who made for highly sought after brides. For their grace and their beauty, and for the abilities that a child of the Valkryies would inherit. 

It was just one more form of duty for the Valkryies, the unenviable fate of those who did not die in battle. Silmeria had always known that the chance had existed that this fate would one day befall her. But Silmeria had thought, hoped, it would be far, far in her future. 

She wouldn’t fight and rail against such a future now becoming her reality. She had understood, even accepted that this was fate. She might have even taken comfort from the fact that her marriage wouldn’t be to just anyone. That that union would help reforge an alliance, strengthen the truce between the two kingdoms. That tension that had started to poison relations between Asgard and Alfeim had been in need of an offering, a SACRIFICE to appease it.

Silmeria would be that sacrifice, her marriage to Alfeim’s King, meant to to make all the difference. In both sustaining a lasting peace between the two kingdoms, and in keeping them united against the ever encroaching threat of the Undead. It might have even have made all the difference in turning the tide of war to the two realm’s favor. The one thing in common that they, that ALL of the nine realms shared, was that of the threat of Lord Brahms and his people. His undead was a legion unto itself, the creatures hated and reviled, and persecuted by all. 

Such was the open animosity and hatred towards the undead, that Brahms’ kind was welcomed nowhere. Yet such was their numbers, that never had a definitive blow been struck against them. They were like insects, no worse than, for they not only continued to survive, they did so by thriving off of blood that they murdered, thieved and manipulated for.

The undead were as different from the Asgardians as night was from day. Those stark contrasts were what defined the right from the wrong. Most didn’t question it, most didn’t even wonder at why the undead were like that. And once Silmeria had been just another one of the unquestioning throngs. She STILL sort of was, although something had been changing inside of her for a long while now. The young woman had always felt herself to be a little different. That feeling was just strong enough that Silmeria had never truly fit. Not as a Valkyrie warrior, and not as a Goddess. That lack of belonging, that feeling that persisted, was it that what had left her so accepting? Of a fate that would have had most Valkyries running, their openly proud and defiant natures keeping them from going meekly off to their marriage beds. Because even at their most crippled, the Valkyries often resented being handed off like mere cattle. 

But not Silmeria. There had been a calmness to her, an acceptance that had nothing to do with submission, the Valkyrie curious, a sense of anticipation suffusing her. She might have had even been looking forward to this next stage of her life. This change that would be so different, and so new. Not even the pain that had colored her every step and movement could get Silmeria to think otherwise. Because there was an opportunity for something more, a chance for her to find happiness. Even with the pain, that crippling, debilitating sensation having had plenty of time to have flared up by now. And yet, there was NONE of it. 

She was puzzled by the complete lack of it, the pain not so much dulled as entirely GONE. It should have been impossible, and yet without it, there was nothing holding her back. Not even her amazement, Silmeria’s thoughts having then scattered at the soft thump of sound that was someone’s boot stepping down on stone. 

She didn’t immediately question how the past and it’s memories could snap free of that leash that they had put on her. She was able to shake free of even those last lingering thoughts, her gaze focusing outwards to watch and see the figure that was approaching her.

That man instantly became the only thing that Silmeria was aware of, the details of his appearance commanding her focus. Large in stature, his was an imposing figure, with a body that was as tall as Lord Odin if not more so. It was such an impressive height, this man a being who was meant to dwarf all others around him, and Silmeria would not be the exception. Positively dainty in appearance, Silmeria could see how the man would tower over her in ALL circumstances.

He was big in all sense of the word, with thick muscular arms and a broad chest. A sleeveless green vest stretched tight over his torso, the revealing garment tailor made from the looks of it, yet still straining to cover even half of that amount of muscle and skin. That left a tantalizing canvas of flesh on display, Silmeria’s eyes drawn to all of that flawless, dark skin. That flesh color was one that complimented well with his dark hair, a brown that sometimes looked black In the dim lighting of the room. There was thick volume to it, and plenty of length gathered together to form one hell of mane. It had been spiked in places, seeming to obey it's own laws of gravity in how it stayed up and moved about on it’s own.

Even without that magnificent head of hair, this man would never have been able to pass himself off as anything as mundane as a mortal. The dark colored skin would have thrown her, had Silmeria not been aware of his true nature already, his kind of people a pale skinned lot that had never known the kiss of the sun’s ray. His however was a marvel, that dark dusky color that marked him as something different, yet Silmeria wasn’t fooled for one second. Not when the crimson red of his eyes were focused on her, that dark blood color seeming to positively smolder with all of his lusts and his desires. 

Focused on him like he was on her, Silmeria had reacted long before that smile of his revealed a hint of lengthening fang. Her mind kicked in a name, but it was instinct that took over, Silmeria reacting to the perceived threat of just who and what she now faced.

Brahms. 

It was him, the vampire king in the flesh. The Lord Ruler of all the Undead, The Bringer of Nightmares, The Dealer of Death. He was also the very fiend that had been obsessed with getting near to her for far longer than Silmeria actually cared to remember.

In the seconds that it took for her to go from assessing his looks, to recognizing him as a very real threat, Silmeria had charged forward, the woman every inch of a Valkyrie that had spied her unnatural enemy. This went beyond the hatred of the races, Silmeria’s stomach cramping with unease. There was the unpleasant feel of her skin actually crawling, Silmeria recalling the tireless way that Brahms had pursued her. It was a pursuit that had cost her nearly everything, his undead minions responsible for all of her crippling and career ending injuries.

She neither had the time nor the desire to remember that particular incident, Silmeria instead lurching upright and forward. The thin sheet that had been covering her slipped off, Silmeria’s legs having to kick free of it's silk like material. The bed beneath her feet was soft but springy, lending a real bounce to her steps, and more importantly giving Silmeria a boost to her height when she stood. She would take and use any and all advantage, Silmeria effortlessly running atop the bouncy mattress. The surprise was on his face, her momentum such that Silmeria easily launched herself AT the vampire king. She wasn’t capable of actually flying, but that leap was the next best thing. Airborne and hurtling towards him, it was Brahms who reached up and caught at her with his big hands. She ignored the feel of those hands closing about her waist, Silmeria too busy bringing up hers to do similar around his neck. But even that part of him was thick like the rest of him, to the point that Silmeria couldn’t reach enough around to truly do a strangle hold on the vampire. She still made a valiant effort all the same, her anger, animosity and frustrations all flaring. Her arms tensed as a result of the attempt, her scrambling, struggling fingers digging into his flesh as the woman attempt to find the purchase needed to rip out his throat. Silmeria glared into Brahm’s face as she did this, the inside of her thighs coming to cradle on either side of his waist. 

She was a crimson reflection in the depths of the vampire’s eyes, Silmeria absentmindedly noticing that her blond hair looked especially wild and all askew. It lent a presence to her, made Silmeria look like she was some vengeful creature, the woman all feral and full of animosity. 

The open desire and the naked lust of the vampire’s earlier expression had given way to one of amazement. He had seemed shocked as a result of her attack, but Silmeria didn't try to analyze the reason why. She did note however that he wasn't trying to throw her off of him, actually tightening his hands' grip upon her waist instead. She didn’t like that, didn't like him touching her. Not when it hit too close to home, reminding Silmeria of another time, a moment that was some memory in her near past. That time too he had clutched at her body, his hands upon her waist as the vampire had lowered his face towards hers. 

She had to blink and shake her head in an effort to dispel the unwanted memory. Silmeria knew that she couldn't afford to be distracted. Not by her thoughts, and not by the fact that Brahms’ lips were moving, his fangs flashing as that infernal fiend tried to speak. She barely registered his words, let alone understood them. But Silmeria could hazard a guess, certain that the vampire was commanding her to stop, and telling her that such attacks were useless against him. But the Valkyrie already knew that much, choosing instead to continue to vent her rage upon him. Because it felt GOOD, that anger that Silmeria had keeping her from realizing so many things, the pain, the fear, and the potential that she had to be helpless around him.

His crimson eyes then blazed even hotter, that red color an expression of both his thoughts and his feelings. He smoldered with an unholy desire, but more than that, there was the exasperation that came with the realization that talking was not going to do him any good. It was then that his hands shifted their grip about her slim waist, that impressive strength of his called into play to effortlessly haul Silmeria off of him. Her dragging nails gouged open flesh, his throat bleeding whole rivulets of the dark spurting liquid.

She didn’t seem to notice, Silmeria too focused on fighting. An incoherent hiss would issue out of her, Simeria finding that Brahms had bodily thrown her. The Valkyrie hit hard against a wall, but even that did not stun her, Silmeria already bounding forward, her fingers with their sharp nails reaching for the vampire again.

Slashing without even thinking about the absurdity of such an attack, Silmeria sliced her nails through now empty air. That fiend had teleported! It left her snarling, Silmeria pivoting on her heel as she turned about in an attempt to find her target. He was there by the bed again, the opposite side now, and wearing the weirdest expression that the Valkyrie had ever seen. On him, and on anyone, his crimson eyes almost astonished. She didn’t take the time to wonder why, her body coiled with her instinctive need to attack.

For one brief second, they locked eyes together, the two exchanging a stare. That crimson glare left Silmeria rooted in place, the woman cautious about approaching a vampire so thoroughly alert to her. It was only when Brahms suddenly grimaced, a hand going to his damaged throat, that Silmeria saw an opening. He seemed surprised and in pain over what his fingers had felt, the vampire actually making the mistake of looking down at his hand for one moment. 

Distracted by the blood that now was on his fingers, Brahms almost hadn’t seen Silmeria in time. By all rights he should have died, the Valkyrie’s victory something that should have been absolute. And it would have been if Silmeria’s opponent had been anyone else save the Lord of the Undead. Her bare hands alone weren’t enough, no matter how great her desire was to beat the vampire to death with them. She had barely managed a fist, Brahms snagging hold of Silmeria by her arms. To be so thwarted in her desires, to find herself restrained by the vampire? It left Silmeria absolutely infuriated, a feral growl erupting from inside her. 

Half trapped and made completely wild, Silmeria didn’t let the situation stop her. The fight within her flared even stronger, the woman lashing out with her both of legs, her right knee aimed at one weak point in particular. But that attack didn't land, Silmeria finding instead she had been thrown again. This time down onto the bed’s mattress, her body bouncing hard in place against the soft, springy surface. The force of it knocked the wind out of her, Silmeria left stunned. No thoughts left in her head, only the rage fueled emotions, it was instinct that would have guided her, Silmeria ready to spring up in an attempt to continue her attacks against Brahms.

She never got the chance, the vampire king at last at the end of his patience. With that unnatural speed that all of the vampires possessed, the undisputed King of the Undead lunged forward, his full weight brought against her. Silmeria found herself pinned in place with the vampire king on top of her, his weight and his body pressing her down into the mattress. Straddled by him, and listening to his breath rasping out of him in harsh exaggerated pants, Silmeria should have been panicked. Any other women in her place would have, when faced with being held down by a man who had lusted so strongly, that in order to possess hold of her, he could and had done just about everything!

A memory then tried to spike, a far different kind of battlefield called to mind. The memory of that place fed into her anger, Silmeria remembering how she was first and foremost a Valkyrie, a supreme being that was both a warrior goddess and unflinchingly fierce battle maiden. Panic of any kind was that of an undignified weakness, one that had no place or fit in a Valkyrie’s heart. No room for it then, and certainly no room for it now, Silmeria refusing to let if overtake her. She fought it, and she fought Brahms, Silmeria thrashing about with her body, struggling to get her legs free of him. An arm raised, and an open handed slap went across the vampire’s face. Such was the force of Silmeria’s blow, that Brahms head actually turned to the side as a result. 

For one second there was nothing more Nothing save for the setting of Brahms’ jaw, the visible clenching of his lip, teeth tightly ground together in an effort to suppress HIS growl. Her name still grated out of him, Brahms all but snarling the word. “Silmeria!”

That ended the frozen moment, Silmeria resuming her vigorous struggles. “Get off of me, you fiend!" She had then hissed back, her hand raising to slap the vampire across his face a second time. Her wrist was then caught by Brahms, his cruel fingers harsh about the bone, the vampire forceful in his efforts to keep any further strikes from being thrown. Silmeria’s fury knew no bounds at this, her one fist caught, but not the other.

“Abomination!" She added action to the insult, trying to hit him with her other hand. That too was caught in just as brutal a grip, the vampire wearing what might have been a merciless smirk as he had then pressed her back against the mattress. Caught in that unrelenting grip, the vampire stretched the Valkryie’s arms up above her head. Silmeria was effectively pinned and made to feel helpless, the placement of her arms one that screamed of forced submission. But her panic still didn’t come, Silmeria refusing to allow it to give birth in her heart. Not even as she arched and bucked against his body, her every struggle beneath only proving a lesson in futility. She wasn’t going to get free, not on her own, and Silmeria let out a scream of impotent fury.

Thrashing about even more, nothing could get through to her. Nothing save the sudden quickening of his breath, Silmeria having then noticed the blatant interest that was showing in his eyes. She quickly realized that the bastard was getting off on her struggles, and that almost caused her to go still, Silmeria burning with the desire to take that particular satisfaction away from Brahms.

She didn’t though. Instead she kept right on fighting, Silmeria attempting to buck him off of her body with her violent movements. It was a lot like hitting a brick wall, that stone like mass completely immovable. It was an unfortunate but true fact that it would take a far greater strength than hers to knock Brahms from his seat. That made Silmeria growl in mounting fury, the woman unable to relax. The first real trickle of a very fear gnawed it’s way into her thoughts. What would Brahms do to her, now that he had the Valkyrie pinned to the bed beneath him?

For the moment though, Brahms was apparently content to only just look at her. But even that was too much, that smoldering stare of his near unbearable. That crimson gaze made Silmeria feel unclean, that sharp focus so completely dark, devouring her every movement, every reaction, so that the vampire would miss nothing about her. Such an intent, unfathomable expression left Silmeria unable to read it. It built her unease, that unclean feeling mounting, the woman uncertain of just where the vampire’s thoughts lay. His were a veritable mystery to her, and the young Valkyrie would hardly be appeased to know that hers thoughts were as equally unreadable to him. 

The exasperated Valkyrie stared up at the vampire above her. His face only served to annoy her, Silmeria exhaling a deep, aggravated breath. And with that breath, sound was restored to her, Silmeria hearing the rush of all manner of noise. The sudden volume of it, and the clarity left her shaking, Silmeria realizing that this noise had always been there, serving as a muted background to the fighting that had just briefly went on.

The sounds bothered Silmeria now that she was so keenly aware of them. She could hear footsteps, and the whisper of fabrics rustling. Voices spoke, their words sometimes about HER. Silmeria could not fathom the reason why, or how close these people actually were to her location. Not when their voices had an echoing quality to it, their words both coming from a distance AND sounding too close for her comfort. 

The other sounds that accompanied the voices, let Silmeria know there was other things besides people around her. She couldn’t take comfort in that, not when she was most likely held in the stronghold of the vampire king, his undead minions all ready to stand as obstacle to her every attempt at escape. But there wasn’t just vampires and monsters about. There was the lonely howl of what might have been a wolf sounding in her ears. It was nearly drowned out by the buzzing of insects, those night thriving creatures chirping out an unholy song.

Any and all sounds now existed for her, Silmeria able to make out the sounds of a choppy and violent sea. Whole waves of it crested angrily against some rocks, the water slapping firmly at a sandy coast. Tree leaves rustled like the hoof beat of horses, her every sound heard at an unnaturally loud volume. Hearing all of this only confused her, more than half of these sounds being something that should have been impossible to make out. Even as a Goddess, Silmeria knowing that even with a Valkyrie’s superior range of senses, she should never have been able to hear half of what she now did.

Silmeria shook her head as though that could free her from this particular distraction. She needed to be analyzing the situation, counting out the number of people that she could hear moving about the building. It was a lot from the sound of it, but Silmeria wanted a concrete number. How many undead stood between her and freedom? How many did she have to fight and kill or sneak past? Silmeria couldn’t tell, a frown twisting briefly across her lips. Freedom had never seemed so out of reach, the woman wondering what chance did she actually have. 

Odds against her thus, Silmeria’s blood still boiled for a fight. She was not even winded from her efforts against Brahms. Instead of exhaustion or that of pain, the Valkyrie actually felt exhilarated, her heart beating even stronger. This was a world of difference from the pain that she had known first hand, those weeks spent in bed, crippled and moaning, hurting from even the slightest of movement. Not even the tonics had been able to completely do away with and ease her pain, Silmeria suffering. Suffering in a way that she no longer actually felt, the woman letting out a pronounced gasp to realize what she had done, what she had felt. This was no medicine, and no amount of adrenaline pumping through her that could have stopped her from feeling the debilitating effects of her injuries. 

It wasn’t the only impossibility, but it was one of the most pressing. Silmeria wanted to puzzle out the hows and whys of her miraculous recovery, but everything was interfering, It wasn’t just the sounds that crept into her awareness. It was the tantalizing smell, a sweetly seductive scent that seemed to call to her. Silmeria had tried to ignore it, the woman not needing any more distractions. Her nostrils still flared with her attempts to breathe in more of that appetizing scent when something hot splashed against her cheek. 

It shouldn’t, couldn’t be that hot, and yet it was, Silmeria feeling that liquid warmth sear a brand into her skin. Another splash hit her, and then another, lingering for one frozen eternity, before it smeared. Hyper focused on it, Silmeria felt every inch of her branded, as that red hot streak burned a path down her face. 

That brand just narrowly missed her lips, that streak of liquid almost touching the right corner of Silmeria’s mouth. It was disturbing how it’s very nearness seduced her, Silmeria actively longing to reach out and touch her tongue to it. Her teeth positively ached with that desire, Silmeria started to strain and arch beneath the vampire holding her down. His own eyes had narrowed, the crimson afire with some dark emotion that made it difficult to acknowledge the existence of. So she didn’t, Silmeria slowly but surely breaking the connection of their gaze.

Free from the compulsion of his eyes, Silmeria truly looked at Brahms. She saw his handsome face as a whole, took in the irresistible good looks that both soothed and tricked mortals into doing his bidding. That stark sensuality had been the end of so many, might even be the ruin of HER, Silmeria’s gaze lingering on his hard, unforgiving lips. His fangs had lengthened noticeably, the sharp incisors ready and waiting to bite down on anyone in reach. 

Fighting alarm at that thought, Silmeria tried to look away. Her gaze slid here and there, trying to take in her surroundings instead. The Vampire king’s nearness, his presence was suffocating her, drowning her in bodily awareness. Nothing else existed, nothing save the man on top of her, and that was BEFORE she glanced at his neck. At his BLEEDING throat, Silmeria being riveted in place by the sight. Those deep tears that had been gouged into him by the Valkyrie’s own nails, the skin torn ragged from her earlier brutality. Blood welled and trickled out, staining his throat crimson. 

His innate abilities lessened the extent of the damage, Brahms healed enough that he wasn’t gushing blood everywhere anymore. Instead there was that slow trickle, many trails collecting together, to form fat drops of blood that hung suspended between them. What felt like another small eternity must have passed, and then one of the lingering drops broke free. It’s slow, lazy descent splashed hot against her cheek. Silmeria didn’t flinch at that touch, her eyes remaining open and staring enrapt at Brahms' throat. At the blood and at the tears, that flesh that had been made so ragged by her own nails digging in and dragging. It looked like it HURT, the skin torn so raw, and yet it wasn’t the nastiest of wounds. Not to a vampire, and not to a Valkyrie who had been so active on the battlefields. Silmeria had not only seen worse, she had suffered through it. 

No wound, no matter how bloody and severe had ever held such a fascination to her. But this one now did, Silmeria almost hypnotized by the blood that continued to collect, the drops against her skin making her shudder in a way that had nothing to do with revulsion. Silmeria did not properly understand it, did not know why the blood had woven such a spell over her. Reality itself was affected, time seeming to slow, the many sounds that she had been hearing dulling to a subdued quiet. Why even Silmeria’s own breath seemed to stop, the woman aware of nothing but the fact that she existed. That HE existed, and that his blood was so tempting and close.

Unconsciously in reaction, Silmeria licked at her lips, which now felt dry like her mouth. She was still so focused on the blood, unable to note the way that Brahms’ own eyes had dilated at the sight of her tongue flicking over her bottom lip. What she did know was that another drop was about to fall, Silmeria almost moaning with anticipation at the idea of feeling it splash against her skin. His blood that was so hot, burned like a fever to Silmeria. She wondered why, a vampire’s blood normally cold unless they had fed recently. Had Brahms fed, and if so then just WHOSE blood was it that ran hot through his veins?

That troubling thought didn’t disturb Silmeria as much as it should have. Nothing was normal, not about the situation, not about him, and certainly not about her. Why else would she have arched herself upwards, straining against the very hands that held her pinned down, That cruel grip was maintained, but the vampire didn’t try to actually stop her. Brahms LET Silmeria press her front against his. His chest was marked with spilled blood, the copious amounts having fallen from the first initial gush of his throat’s wounds.

Not yet dried, that red treat became a stain upon Silmeria’s own dress, the woman continuing to press her breasts against the vampire king. This was no liquid warmth to burn her, the blood there having already had a chance to cool. Silmeria didn’t like that, the woman WANTING the heat that was escaping from Brahm's neck. And with that want, a beat sounded, then repeated again and again, Silmeria realizing that she was hearing the sound of the vampire’s heart. And with each beat of it, more blood seemed to flow, his heart’s strong, steady rhythm echoing louder and louder in her ears. It was a seductive beat, Silmeria staring at the pulse in his neck as she licked her lips once more.

Her arch up didn't put her as close as she would have liked, Silmeria now frowning. She again strained against the hands that held her wrists captive, and suddenly just like that, she was free. Too taken with his blood flow, Silmeria didn’t stop to think, to wonder why he had released her from his grasp. Nor did she bother to ask herself just why that man was holding himself absolutely still. He was still situated a top her though, but there was enough freedom now to move, the woman shifting closer, her hand reaching for his hair. It’s spiky styled strands tickled oddly against her palm, but it wasn’t an entirely unpleasant sensation. Certainly it wasn’t enough to get her to stop, Silmeria stroking over his hair again. Over and over, and then down, her hand tangling through the thick strands of it, so that the Valkyrie could grip the vampire by the nape of his neck. 

With that grip secured, Silmeria then hauled herself upright, her face then burying itself in the side of his neck. Her nostrils had started flaring, Silmeria inhaling the aromatic scent of his blood. THIS is what she desired, what was making her so hungry, the scent such that Silmeria likened Brahms’ blood to the sweetest of ambrosia. She trembled then with excitement, both her hands on him, fingers actually shaking as they touched to and examined the damaged mess that the woman had made of his throat. The blood that was there was so fresh, so hot and so slick, that it made Silmeria moan with the fiercest of need. She grazed and stroked her fingers over that damaged flesh, so that the blood would soak and stick to her skin. With that gathered taste on her fingers’ tips, Silmeria brought them close to touch her lip. And THAT is when she truly noticed her nails.

Far longer than was natural, and currently tipped with a man’s blood, these were not the nails of a Valkyrie. Or even that of a mortal woman. Curving like claws, and looking dangerous and sharp, Silmeria recognized them for what they were. A vampire's claws. Her nostrils flared with her alarm, the dismayed breath unable to keep her strongest desire at bay. A rumble of protest sounded from deep within her, urging Silmeria to taste the blood that she had gathered on her fingertips. She ignored it, a horror growing within her as Silmeria began to fully process the oddities of her awakening.

The speed that she had moved with, the sounds that she had heard, the lack of pain that she had felt. Her tongue ran over the tops of her front teeth, and it was there that she felt the pin prick sharpness of fangs. The dawning horror now bloomed in her eyes, half remembered flashes coming to her now in startling clarity. To a scant time of just a few days ago, when she had been nearly invalid from the pain, the herbal remedies barely enough to allow Silmeria to endure the ride inside the escort’s carriage.

Intertwined with that scene in the carriage was another memory, of vampires, of ghouls and that of the lesser undead. They had surrounded her, attacking with vigor, her armor shattered open to expose the far too delicate skin it had guarded. For one near endless moment, the two scenes then competed for her attention. Silmeria would remember the pain that she had felt as her back had been torn open by cruel claws, remember the sight of her own blood splattering every which way on the ground around her. Most of all Silmeria remembered the struggle to remain upright, to hold onto her sword, the undead converging on her the instant that Silmeria had gone down for good.

These debilitating memories, both brought to mind the crippling pain that Silmeria had slowly been learning to tolerate. She turned from one vivid recollection to another, until ultimately, the memory of her time in the carriage won precedence over that of the battlefield. Silmeria lost herself completely to that recollection, of how neither she nor her sister had been pleased with the number of men and women assigned to accompany them on their journey. The numbers had been far too little for them to truly be safe in the event of an ambush. And yet they had all foolishly persisted, the hope held that such a small party would give off the illusion that this group wasn’t something worthy of the undead’s notice.

Even understanding the idea of that, Silmeria had still been uneasy. She had tried her best to keep her doubts and her worries from her sister, Lenneth. That she had succeeded at that much was not so much attributed to Silmeria, but to the feeling in the air. There had been too many troubling signs, what with the sky clouded over, the sun blocked completely from their view by the storm that was ever so present a threat. And still they had persisted in continuing the mission, worried that this might be their one and only chance to spirit Silmeria away to safety. Their sister Hrist and her einherjar has devoted days to the endeavor, the Valkyrie and her soldiers leading the undead on the most important of chases, slyly guiding them further and further away from the lands around castle Valhalla. 

The vampires and their undead soldiers might have been far from the castle, and from the Valkyrie’s entourage, but not from Silmeria’s thoughts. Lodged firmly in place, her heart had been troubled, both by the undead and by the thought of their leader. That king of theirs, Brahms, the vampire that had so doggedly pursued her. Just his name alone, just the thought of it, was enough to send shivers down Silmeria’s spine. The woman could remembered clutching at her hands, holding them together in a silent prayer. 

Did her prayers have any effect? No, of course not. Brahms was too determined, his every encounter with Silmeria having served to only deepen the vampire lord’s obsession with the woman. Such was his interest, that Silmeria had often wondered if escape had even been possible. She had especially wondered that on the day that had turned out to be as dark as it had. And even with that sky as a portent for danger, Silmeria had still tried to stay optimistic, to hope for the best possible out come. It had been foolish, Silmeria now knowing how stupid and vain a hope it had been. There was no way to avoid him, no way to escape Brahms and his vampires.

What might as well have been an army of them, had lain in wait for Silmeria and her escort, the vampires then descending upon them like a tsunami's wave. Everyone would become engulfed in the fighting, Silmeria losing sight of her sister Lenneth, and that of the other Valkyries. As the vampires had overwhelmed the einherjar, never had Silmeria felt as helpless as she had then, able to only watch as her allies had been slaughtered. Many had screamed at their end, their throats ending up torn out, their blood and their bodies littering the ground around Silmeria’s carriage.

Even Silmeria had screamed, crying out for her sister. It had amounted to nothing, Lenneth having been too busy and too far away. She had tried to make up the distance, but for every step she would gain, a vampire would then push the Valkyrie back several more. 

Instead it had been left to the einherjar to try and come to Silmeria's aid. But most would be slaughtered with ease, their killers then surrounding her carriage. The doors had been locked, for all the good that it would do her. Silmeria having known that the vampires could and would use brute strength to tear off the doors. She hadn’t been content to just sit there and wait like a readily available target, Silmeria instead fumbling about the seat for any and everything that could be used as a weapon. She had been prepared to fight, though there had been little she could have actually done. Not so long as she had been drugged up on potions and afflicted with so much of that debilitating pain. And still Silmeria had been determined, the woman not wanting to be taken so easily. 

Miraculously her hand had closed around one bottle in particular. It was pure chance, and yet Silmeria had fumbled the cap off, just in time to give the first of the vampires who had dared to lean inside her carriage’s window, a face full of the bottle’s holy water. Silmeria would never forget the stench of the vampire’s burning flesh, and the pained howls that the creature had let out as his skin had began to peel off. It had left the vampire distracted enough for an einherjar to then end his pain with a quick beheading.

Silmeria would nearly jump in fright, her heart’s beat in her throat, when the door opposite her was ripped off the carriage. For one lone instant, a tall, broad chested vampire had stood in the shadows. Crimson eyes had stared at her, leaving Silmeria to shrink back against the seat. She had thought it was the vampire king himself, come to collect her personally. His hand had then extended towards her, palm up as though he had expected Silmeria to just give in and take it. 

She had been shaking her head no, lips curling back to bare her teeth in a feral protest when a spear had slammed through to the front of the vampire's chest. The ease in which the vampire had died had comforted Silmeria, the woman having then realized that it wasn't Brahms after all. But there had been no time to relax, the einherjar that had killed the vampire, moving to engage another.

Silmeria had understood that she had been nothing more than a sitting target inside the carriage. And yet she had also known that it had been too risky to leave, to walk among the vampires in the midst of their killing spree. She had truly felt helpless then, and that was before the next vampire had reached into the carriage, and had grabbed hold of her arms before Silmeria could properly react.

The only thing that had been left to her to do had been to scream, Silmeria having shouted for her sister as she had feebly pounded her fists against the chest of her captor. She had been dragged out the window, the vampire having shown little true care to how he had treated her.

There hadn't even been time to look for her sister amid the fighting, the vampire having held Silmeria close as he had teleported them away. It had been a jarring experience, that teleportation. The world had spun dizzily about her, reality’s many colors then blurring together. As suddenly as it had begun, it had been over, Silmeria and the vampire who had still had a hold of her, having arrived at the make shift camp that the undead had set up in the Forest of Spirits.

Brahms had been waiting for her, the man visibly shaking with his impatience. He hadn’t been able to remain still, instead pacing about a path that had had been trampled into existence by his booted feet. Brahms wouldn't relax until Silmeria had been presented before him, and even then the vampire lord had not cracked a smile. Instead he had been rife with tension, that expression of his so solemn and so serious. Silmeria had tried not to tremble before him, holding her head steady as she had locked her eyes with his. That had proven to be a mistake, the only one she had been given the chance to make. Those crimson colored eyes had been so compelling, his stare muddling her thoughts, letting loose an enchantment about her. One that Silmeria had been ill equipped to deal against. Under that compulsion, aided and abetted by the pain and the herbal tonics within her, Silmeria’s already weakened mind had dulled further. That proud strength of will, that and the fierce determination of a Valkyrie, all of it had meant nothing under the combined onslaught of Brahms’s charisma and Silmeria’s own immense pain. Her breaking had been unavoidable, the only thing that had remained in question had been how quickly Brahms could strip the Valkyrie of the last of her mental defenses. 

She hadn’t been able to fight him in this, not head on and not in her current condition. Silmeria had still tried to put up a struggle, her eyes having narrowed to focus on a point somewhere above the vampire’s head. Brahms hadn’t been content to be ignored by Silmeria, his large meaty hand reaching to grasp hold of her chin. With a gentle but firm insistence, Brahms had guided her gaze back towards his, the crimson color soon becoming the only thing that she had been able to focus on. Vaguely she had been aware of him speaking, but the words had all been nothing but soft whispers urging her to give in. Silmeria had tried to resist that seductive command, knowing that she had to last long enough for the possibility of her sister Lenneth arriving to rescue her.

"Submit to me...." Brahms had urged her, and something inside her had rebelled at that very thought. He had had no right to demand her obedience in this, in ANY moment! She had tried to jerk free of his grip, but his fingers had tightened on her chin. Other commands had come, Brahms never having lost his patience, even as she had hissed and bore her teeth at him. Silmeria had cursed him, had actually reached up to grab at his wrist in an attempt to pull his hand free of her.

But the world around them had been in the slow midst of fading, the circling vampires that had all stood watch having become mere shadows. It had been as though Silmeria and Brahms had been on a stage, with the lights having grown dim all around them so that only the crimson glow of his eyes remained. She hadn’t been able to keep from losing herself into that glow, Silmeria’s growled out threats dying mid gasp as fangs had sank into her neck. She hadn't even been aware of Brahms having drawn her into his embrace, Silmeria not even feeling his breath on her skin as his fangs had pierced her flesh.

The last of her fight had erupted out of her once he had bit her, Brahms right arm going around her waist. He had hauled her up against him, settling her softness against his solid mass, her body actually attempting to go pliant. Her body had wanted to give in to the pleasurable feel of Brahms' bite, having wanted to sink into the oblivion that he had offered her as he had been draining her of blood. Silmeria had still attempted one last resistance, stamping her foot down on his. Her soft soled slippers had no impact on his boots, and in desperation Silmeria had ended up beating her fists against him. Her struggles had made the pleasure turn to pain, Brahms having turned savage at her neck as he had growled at Silmeria in warning. She hadn't cared, still fighting even as each blow had grown slower, weaker, Silmeria’s mind turning sluggish.

As he had fed, his voice had whispered in her mind, urging her to give up that last bit of her control. Silmeria had hung on by a sliver thin line, one that had been fraying in the center at Brahms' continued persistence. And when it had finally snapped, the woman had gone limp in his arms, a moan escaping her as she had given herself over to the feeding. Silmeria had soon after lost control of her legs, needing Brahms support to stay upright. She had known then that she had been dying, and not even that of her sister's scream could have brought Silmeria back from the abyss.

Her memories were confused over what had happened next, a hot liquid being poured down her throat. She could remember Brahms’ voice, not so much urging as commanding her to drink. Silmeria hadn’t even been aware of what that liquid had been, or where that it had been coming from. But those first mouthfuls were like acid, burning their way down her throat as Silmeria had inadvertently swallowed. Even that had soon changed, the liquid holding a plethora of nutrients that had made her greedy for it. There was life in that drink, salvation, hers. And so Silmeria had drank, aware of nothing but that of her need to survive.

It had been all too similar in feeling and need to the thirst that had taken hold of her just seconds ago. A thirst that remained, that left her mouth dry and aching. But Silmeria had no desire to drink, staring instead absolutely horrified at the blood that was trickling out of Brahms' many throat wounds. The allure that it had first held for her had turned to disgust, Silmeria shaking violently. Her hand was still clutching at Brahms hair, the young woman clinging to him like he was the only support she still had left. The vampire lord hadn't even noticed the change in her, an eager moan escaping him.

"Do not stop Silmeria." Brahms' tone was husky, his large hand cupping the back of her head as he attempted to push her face closer to his neck. The thumping of his pulse was louder yet, sounding very much like thunder in her ears. The scent which had been so appetizing before, now made Silmeria want to retch. "Drink from me…"

Silmeria knew that Brahms would like that if she did. It would secure his hold on her, and damn her soul in the process. A moan escaped her then, but it was not one born out of pleasure. It was despair, and that emotion reached through the haze that Brahms had surrounded himself in. He began to shift about, and she had reacted to his movement, pushing and shoving at his chest. Silmeria had desperately wanted him off her BEFORE she gave in to the urge to start screaming.

"Silmeria? What's wrong?"

He wasn't moving as fast or as far as she would have liked, Brahms actually gripping hold of her arms to keep Silmeria rooted on the bed before him. She began to struggle harder, another hiss escaping her. It was better than the sob that had wanted to come out, Silmeria at last raising her eyes to meet his. Her anger clashed with the worried look in Brahms' gaze, and then she was growling at him.

"What have you done?!" She quickly shook her head, wild wisps of blond hair falling across her eyes. She would flinch when Brahms had attempted to brush it back, Silmeria glaring at him as he went still. "How could you?!"

"How could I not?" He was calm as he had retorted with that, speaking as though what he had said had all the rational in the world. Perhaps to Brahms it did, the vampire feeling as though his actions were justified. With that irritatingly calm manner, the vampire Lord had continued with only the slightest hint of agitation tainting his voice. "How could I do anything but act when you were about to be given away. Given to another man, to an undeserving fool?"

"Lord Rufus is a good man." She was shaking with her anger, her breath hissing out of her as Silmeria spoke. "A kind man, a just man. He would have..." She trailed off mid retort, anger spiking in her eyes at the way that Brahms had just openly laughed.

"He would have what?" Brahms prodded at her silence. "Would he have made you happy? Made your life fulfilling?"

She tried not to hesitate, wanting to instead sound sure of her answer. "Yes." She was anything but sure. Her only certainty had been that the marriage would have been for the good of Asgard, relations strengthened between the two realms. Good would have come from the union, even if Silmeria herself might have never learned to love Rufus, or never even come close to being happy with her new life and her duty. 

"You lie." Brahms sounded certain of that, even as she continued to shake her head no. "To me, and to yourself. You'd never be happy with him, never find fulfillment at some elf's side."

"So you what? Acted on my best interest?" She demanded, and he actually nodded, gripping tighter hold of her two arms. "You've turned me into a monster!" She snapped, struggling to get free. "You've made me into a thing that feeds on the life of others. The very creatures that I am sworn to exterminate. The fiend that...." 

"I've given you new life!" Brahms roared over her voice. "I've given you purpose, the chance to find reason and happiness."

"As if I could ever be happy like this!" Silmeria screamed back, her voice just as loud as his. "You think there is joy in killing others? In ending a person's life to further my own?"

"There is more to a vampire's life than that." Brahms protested, but she shook her head no. "There is!" He insisted. "I know this will be a difficult time for you, for us. You need a period of adjustment, but eventually you will see. This was the best course for you."

"You've given me a death sentence!" Silmeria snapped. "My sisters will not tolerate my existence, any more than they will tolerate yours. It would have been a mercy for you to have killed me quick, rather than let me know of such torture, such misery."

"I would sooner rip out my own heart, than let you die." Brahms retorted. "And do you know and understand why?" She didn't, and it showed, Brahms' bruising grip pulling her closer so that he could bring his lips onto hers. "Because you are mine."

She broke the kiss with a hiss, almost snapping her teeth at his lips. But she didn't want to risk the chance of tasting his blood, of getting any more of that foul concoction into her system. "You overbearing, possessive Neanderthal! I am not yours! I will never be yours, no matter what you do to me!"

"You feel the connection between us. I know you do." Brahms had insisted, hardly deterred by her words. "It's existence has been established since the time of our first meeting, though we have both fought against it. We are the same Silmeria...the same sides of a soul, beings who shouldn't exist apart from one another."

"You are delusional as ever if you think to say we are soul mates." She scoffed. "A Valkyrie and a vampire make for mortal enemies, NOT love matches."

"Once I would have agreed with you." Brahms retorted. "I could have killed you back then, and have never known what I would have been stealing from myself."

"Your motivations are as selfish as they are insane." Silmeria sneered. "You seek to secure yourself happiness at the cost of mine!"

"You don't even know what true happiness is!" Brahms pointed out. "Your life as a Valkyrie was hardly fulfilling. You lacked a reason for your existence, a purpose."

"I would have found that purpose at Lord Rufus' side!"

"You wouldn't have!" Brahms snapped back. "How could that man, that elf, ever hope to make you happy? To give you the kind of life that you need?"

"We would have managed." Silmeria answered coldly. "Now let go of me."

"I won't let you go far from me." He warned her, slowly relaxing his grip. She immediately shot out from under him, fleeing to the farthest corner of the room. He turned just as fast as Silmeria had, his watchful eyes marking every inch of her progress. His unsettling gaze stayed on her, Silmeria trying to ignore the way that he continued to look at her, reaching up with her still shaking hands in an attempt to try and wipe off the blood smears sticking to her face. Even once those streaks of blood were gone, Silmeria continued to rub at her cheeks, that skin feeling as though it could never get clean again  
.  
"Stop that." Brahms grumbled an order. "You only serve to irritate your skin." 

She ignored him, continuing her rubbing motions. She wanted the blood gone, from her hands, from her dress, from her SOUL. Would a bath even be enough to get her that clean feeling ever again? Silmeria doubted it. Not when her very insides had been tainted by Brahms’s blood, her core more vampire than Valkyrie now.

~It's just not fair.~ She thought to herself. Her future was supposed to be so much more than this. She was supposed to finally find her reason for existing, her chance at happiness. Even if her match with Rufus might have never produced love, at least there would have been other things to distract her. To give her purpose. She'd no longer have to fight, or spend an indefinite eternity out on the battlefield. Brahms had stolen all that away from her, and more, Silmeria realizing that her transformation had also stolen away her sisters.

Yet another thought had hit her, Silmeria's hands suddenly stilling in place at her sides. Lenneth! What had happened to her? She had heard her dear sister's scream, Lenneth having arrived just as Brahms had finished drinking Silmeria to the brink of death. Horrified, the young woman now met Brahms' crimson gaze, the accusation heavy in them and in her voice. 

"My sister, the Valkyrie, Lenneth. What have you done to her?!" She had to lean against the wall for support, a frightening thought going through her mind. Was Lenneth's blood that which coursed through Brahms' veins at the moment? Had Silmeria's own sister's blood been what had been tempting her to take a drink? Silmeria thought that she might be ill, and wondered if it was possible for a vampire to vomit.

"Ah Lenneth." A faint twist of his lips, more smirk than smile. It made her want to slap him in an attempt to wipe that expression off of his face. "She fought valiantly on your behalf. But she was no match for me."

"And just what was her fate then?" Silmeria asked, knowing her skin had grown even paler because of her fright and her worry.

"Fear not, Silmeria." Brahms’ tone of voice was hardly reassuring. "I did not kill her. Nor did I allow any of my people to touch her." She closed her eyes then, her relief making her dizzy. "Your sister still lives. I dare say she has returned to Asgard, and reported the happenings of your abduction."

"You spared her in order to taunt my King?" Silmeria guessed, completely incredulous. 

"I spared her because I knew that it would displease you if I had killed your most favorite of sisters." He countered. Her eyes snapped open at that, the rage in them boiling over into her words.

"You think one life spared can make up for all the deaths your kind have caused on that day!?" She demanded. "The countless einherjar who have died, the valkyries who accompanied us that were slain?!"

"Necessary deaths." Brahms retorted. "They stood in the way of what I wanted." His eyes narrowed, Brahms stepping towards her. "And Silmeria, I ALWAYS take what I want."

She turned to avoid his hand's caress on her cheek, Silmeria instead stalking over to the window. With a perceptive interest, she noted how the window hadn’t been barred, though arcane symbols had been carved into the glass instead. She was no wizard to know what those symbols meant, but Silmeria could feel the power of their spell’s magic.

"I wouldn't advise trying to leave that way." Came Brahms' voice from behind her. "The windows have been enchanted to keep a vampire confined within these walls."

"So I am nothing more than your prisoner.…"

"Oh, you are so much more than that." Brahms answered. Again he tried to touch her, attempting to lay his hands on her shoulders. "You are my everything."

"I am nothing to you." Silmeria retorted, moving away from him. "It's best you accept that."

"Never." Brahms answered. She held back a sigh, annoyed by his stubborn and delusional response. "It's not so bad..." The woman had turned at that, her eyebrows raised in surprise. "To be a vampire." Before Silmeria could angrily retort, Brahms was continuing. "You no longer feel the pain of your injuries."

She considered that briefly, noting there wasn't even a faint lingering of pain. It was as though she had never been injured, Silmeria able to do the most exaggerated of movements with complete ease. "It's not worth it." Silmeria answered at last. "I would have gladly endured the pain a million times over to remain as I was." He snorted at that, but he wasn't amused. Neither was she, Silmeria narrowing her eyes at him. "Was this all part of your master plan?"

Brahms looked confused then, Silmeria sighing. "Surely you didn't leave this all up to chance. My injuries were part of your plan to get close to me, to be able to kidnap me. You knew that Odin would send me away if I was no longer able to fight. You were counting on that, weren't you?"

He turned angry then, growling aghast at her. "I would never purposefully do you harm. Especially to that extent."

"But you have!" She countered, but he ignored that.

"What happened on the battlefield was a mistake. It was out of my control, those vampires who so injured you." His look was savage then, the man unsatisfied with those soldier’s actions. "I have personally seen that all involved with harming you have paid. For their transgressions against you, they have died."

"You expect me to be glad for that?" Silmeria asked. He blinked in confusion then. It appeared that he had expected her to at least be happy at that news. "You merely proved what a savage you are, what brutes your entire race is!"

"Silmeria…"

Again she shrugged off his attempt to touch her, Silmeria still so rightfully angry. "Don't! Don't call me that! You have no right to my name...to the intimacy it implies."

"But I will use it all the same." Brahms retorted. "You are mine Silmeria. Do not ever forget that."

"You think making me into your own kind grants you ownership over me?" She demanded, hands fisting on her hips. 

"You do not yet understand the ways of the vampires. I am not just your husband…"

"Husband?!" She scoffed.

"I am your sire as well." Brahms continued without pause. "That implies certain rights, though I do not intend to force them on you. I will wait for you to love me back."

"Love you back? That will never happen!" She retorted, dismayed by his calm smile. "You will learn first hand how difficult it is to gain the heart and soul of a Valkyrie."

"You are Valkyrie no more." Brahms reminded her. "You are a vampire, and first and foremost a woman. I think it will not be so difficult to awaken the heart with which you had buried under your warrior's armor."

"You...you..." She was near speechless with anger, annoyed at his unshakable confidence. "Arrogant, overbearing…"

"You must be hungry." Brahms interrupted smoothly. His fingers went to his neck, clawing over one of the scratches to cause the worst of it's bleeding. "Come. It would give me immense satisfaction to see to this need of yours."

She seethed with her anger, the rage upon her as Silmeria then turned her back on him. It was brave and it was bold, that refusal of hers a clear cut message that was apparent by her actions. "I will not feed." Silmeria announced. "Never will I do such a distasteful act."

"You didn't find it so distasteful mere minutes ago." Brahms reminded her, and she flushed then with embarrassment. "You were seconds away from taking my neck." 

"That would have been a mistake." Silmeria hissed. "I was confused and disoriented, half out of my mind. It won't be repeated."

"You have not yet known true hunger." Brahms stepped into her space, his chest pressing against her back as he then grabbed at her arms to hold and keep her in place. "But mark my words Silmeria. Someday soon you will. And when that happens, the call of blood will be undeniable, even to you." 

"I will truly be damned then." She was sad then, not even attempting to struggle against his imprisoning hold.

"Not damned. But blessed. It will be the moment that your new life has truly begun…"

She said nothing to that, Silmeria keeping her own private council with her own thoughts. The former Valkyrie knew that her sisters would be coming for her. She also knew that they wouldn't be able to revert the transformation that had been forced onto her. Her life was truly lost, forfeited the moment Brahms had forced his blood down her throat. But there was still a chance for her soul's salvation. If she could only hold out long enough for Lenneth and Hrist to come, to end her life before she fed off of some innocent, she would be freed from this torment. She just had to keep from feeding, no matter how hungry she got, or how long it would take for her sisters to come to her rescue.

But the strong smell of Brahms' blood perfumed the air around her, her nostrils flaring to take in that appetizing scent. Silmeria wondered if salvation wasn't already denied to her. When already the blood held such a temptation to her, Silmeria wondering just how much worse could it get as the nights each passed. She just didn’t know, Silmeria shivering as the woman acknowledged to herself that she would have to call upon all of her inner reserves of strength. Maybe then and only then would she stand a chance at resisting the vampire Brahms, and the blood that he tempted her with. 

 

To Be Continued…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 9/14/2017 Updated it with a few thousand words. Good Lord was this chapter an all day project. @_@
> 
> 9/15/2017 Revamped the earlier draft. (it was BAD.) Ended up an even bigger word count. Dies and goes to bed
> 
> Michelle


	6. Chapter 6

There was no peace in her heart, no calm and no quiet for her soul, Lenneth falling into Odin’s enchanted slumber while being plagued by the uncertain. By the doubts and the fear, Lenneth’s mind overtaken with the thoughts that focused near unwavering on that of her younger sister, Silmeria.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. There wasn’t supposed to be anything felt while under the enchantment’s forced slumber. By all rights, Lenneth should have been at ease, neither dreams, nightmares, nor memories, able to disturb her. Her mind should have been blessedly empty, Odin’s potion working it’s magic to strip Lenneth of her defiance, her strength, and that of her free will. In many a way she should have been reborn anew, a total clean slate for the love that would be forced upon Lenneth at her awakening. 

None of that had happened, not even the small mercy that should have freed the Valkyrie maiden from her thoughts. The recollection that she still had, Lenneth not so much dreaming as reliving the events that had led up to this punishment a thousand times over. She would see the faces of the slaughtered, that of the Valkyries and the chosen few einherjar who had been entrusted to her command. She’d remember Gwendolyn and Jacqueline’s screams, and the sound of flesh tearing, the greedy hungry gulps of many a throat working, and the smacking of lips against too wet skin. 

Most of all, it was the thought of Silmeria, thoughts of the woman’s fate that had been the result of Lenneth’s spectacular failure. Lenneth was haunted by the idea of that, by the knowledge of just what her mistakes had led Silmeria into becoming. She was tormented, Lenneth knowing that she should have been faster and stronger, SMARTER somehow. Her sister had paid the price for Lenneth’s short comings in that moment, Silmeria taken. 

Sometimes the Valkyrie saw Silmeria as she had once been. The strong and the confidant Goddess, the able bodied and capable warrior. Dressed in full Valkyrie regalia, Silmeria was often seated at the head of an army. Such a striking image of what had once been, and Lenneth still couldn’t keep the memories from then turning dark, from showing her sister out on the battle field. This vision of Silmeria was not as Lenneth had known her, the Valkyrie’s indigo armor gone. Dressed in dark shrouds of crimson, Silmeria’s deathly pale skin had only stood out starker against the blood colored rags. And then it would hit her, Lenneth realizing that the shredded gown had once been colored a snow white, the blood of Silmeria’s many victims having soaked into and changed the very nature of the fabric.

Lenneth’s mind had tried to deny this sight, tried to make up some feeble excuse as to what she was seeing. No blade and no bow besides her, Silmeria herself had become a grim parody of the undead, her teeth and those ungodly claws the weapon of choice that had attacked and killed so many. Her very lips stained a vivid red from the innocents she had slaughtered and fed upon, Silmeria’s eyes had flashed a crimson accusation at her sister.

Holy sword then appearing in her hand, Lenneth had STILL hesitated to strike down her sister. She had looked at the soulless monster that Silmeria had become, the undead nightmare that would be the death of countless others, and she could not do it. Lenneth couldn’t bring herself to put an end to the creature who had once been her sister. That completed Lenneth’s failure, that of Silmeria’s eternal damnation and that of the nine realms’ many inhabitants all doomed to die at that former Valkyrie’s hands. 

It was her fears manifested to extremes, Lenneth frightened by both the reality and the what ifs that continued to plague her. Maybe it would always torment her. Maybe Lenneth would always be haunted not just by her failures, but by the fact she hadn’t been able to personally put Silmeria to the sword. She hadn’t even been given the chance, Odin stripping the right to that duty from her. Just as he had stripped everything else from Lenneth, the one time Valkyrie now made human and cursed to know the love of the man who would one day awaken her.

Something very much like tears had then pricked at her eyes, Lenneth feeling overwhelmed by the situation. By the helplessness of her fate, and by the sight of Silmeria at her absolute worst. Lenneth’s soul had actually cried out in pain, the Valkyrie maiden herself taking a step towards her sister. “I am sorry!” Lenneth would say, openly weeping. Was she desperate for an absolution? For a forgiveness that Lenneth would never dare give to herself? “I couldn’t save you.” Lenneth would finally acknowledge, the sword falling free of fingers that had now gone limp.

A wail of agony like such that Lenenth had never thought to even hear let alone voice, had then escaped her, the woman falling to her knees. Her eternal torment, that agony, had increased by one hundred droves, Lenneth now knowing the ultimate in despair at Silmeria’s agreeing nod. Such was the effect on her mind, that Lenneth would often forget this was nothing more than a dream. A nightmare that was grounded in the basis of cruel truth. Gripped by this hellish reality, Lenneth was caught in an endless loop, of agony and of regret, that of her failure and that of her heartache. 

Her mind tortured her with the countless what ifs, Lenneth was frozen and helpless, unable to do much of anything save scream. She’d watch as Silmeria attacked innocents, as the humans fell victim to her claws and to her teeth. Other times the nightmare would take them back to the Plains of Idavoll, where Brahms was out and about, fighting alongside his new bride. Together the pair would attack Silmeria’s one time people, ripping apart Valkyrie and einherjar alike. Silmeria would feed on the very Asgardians who had once been her allies, Such things would be repeated, Lenneth bearing witness to an unending slaughter that spread throughout the nine realms. Until finally with an unholy fury burning in those crimson eyes, Silmeria had then turned on her own sister.

Lenneth had screamed out in pain then, the agitated state of her mind, the agony of Silmeria’s imagined future, driving the Valkyrie to cry out for real. Lenneth was trapped in a realm of unending nightmares and torment, completely unable to fight free. Not on her own. Not without the kiss of her soon to be husband. That man should have spurred even more nightmares to life, Lenneth not wanting to lose herself to him. To the kiss that would strip away her very identity, to the love that would remake her into EVERY man’s ideal wife.

No idea of the who or the what, that of the kind of man Odin would deem suitable for his failure of a Valkyrie, Lenneth had a very real reason to be afraid for herself. That man could be cruel, and he could be abusive, ready to hurt her in so many ways. He could demean and debase her, Odin’s love enchantment such that Lenneth would gladly submit and surrender to just about anything. Her mind wouldn’t even know enough to protest, to recognize the right and the wrong of it. 

Despite all this, Lenneth could only stay caught in the grip of fear for her sister. For Silmeria’s soul. Those few conscious times when Lenneth actually realized that she was dreaming, would then have the Valkyrie maiden praying for her sister Hrist’s success. For the dark haired Valkyrie to not only kill Silmeria, but to do it quickly enough to save the young woman’s very soul. 

Time against them all, Lenneth’s sleep was not anywhere peaceful to those that watched over her. Locked in that nightmare, screaming inside of her own mind, sometimes Lenneth would cry out for real. Other times silent tears would fall from beneath her closed eyes, her cheek’s skin slick and flushed with the Valkyire’s unnerving upset.

The enchanted sleep was meant to be peaceful. It was anything but for Lenneth, the woman exhausted by her dreams. With the agony of a countless millennia lived out in her nightmares, Lenneth had not a single bit of idea as to what was actually going on around her. She was simply unaware of what if anything was happening in the world that existed outside of her tortured mind. Asleep for it, Lenneth had no way of knowing that time itself was passing, many days upon days marking her body’s travel. That untold amount was spread out over vast distances, the journey to Lenenth’s new home a long one.

Just as she had no awareness of time and of distance, the physical sensations of the journey were lost to her as well. Lenneth had felt not a thing, nothing from the many bumps of an unpaved road jarring against the carriage’s wheels, or to the hands that touched upon her in concern. She felt not the washcloth that caressed upon her skin, or how her armor had been stolen away. She felt not even the difference in fabrics, the clothing upon her, the cushions beneath her. Frozen in that enchanted slumber, Lenneth did not even feel the physical needs of her body, the magic such that the woman was in a state of total hibernation.

There had been no way to fight this, no way to keep this unnatural slumber from taking her over. Lenneth had been damned to it the moment that Odin’s potion had touched on her tongue, the sleep overtaking her just as a scream had sounded. The voice had been that of her sister, Hrist, the woman angry, maybe even frightened. Lenneth would never know just who that shout had truly been for, the Valkyrie falling, already asleep long before her body hit upon the floor.

Once in the eternity that was her suffering, Lenneth would have a real moment. A thought where she didn’t think about her failures, that she didn’t worry for her sister, Silmeria. Those brief bits of time never lasted long enough, Lenneth left to wonder if she would ever awaken from her enchantment. Paranoia sometimes crept in with such a thought, Lenneth fearing that THIS was the true punishment. The torture of not knowing, of never learning of just how Silmeria’s fate had played out. Maybe this sleep would be upon her for forever, forcing Lenneth to endlessly relive all of her failures and that of her fears. 

Awake or asleep, which would be better? Which would be worst? Was the agony of her mind truly fitting punishment enough? More so than humiliation of being tied in love to some random stranger? To be his property, made devoted and loyal, her affection and her obedience stolen rather than earned? Would she have found ANY man worthy of her heart? Neither fate was palpable, not as a punishment and not as a duty.

Wishing that she had fought both Brahms AND Odin harder, the helpless feeling Valkyrie wished she HAD died. Better Odin’s potion be poison than this hell, this sleep AND the reality that it’s magic would make her a slave of. This time when Lenneth cried, it was tears for herself, those drops born of her frustration over the hopelessness of those fates. 

The sadness on her face, a sob caught in her throat, Lenneth did not even register when a strong pair of arms lifted her into their embrace. The enchanted sleep had left her body absolutely pliant, Lenneth easily cradled against a chest. She was asleep for even this, someone carrying the woman into her new home. It wouldn’t be that long after, that her enchantment was then broken, Lenneth finally starting to stir. It wasn’t an immediate awakening, no sharp and no sudden a gasp to herald it. Even the dark horrors of her mind tried to still linger, that unholy vision of Silmeria the last and the strongest to fall to the dawning awareness of her surroundings.

As Silmeria faded away, the sounds and the smells, and even the physical sensations all began to filter in. The sounds were among the first wave of outside stimulation, a quiet kind of murmur that was nothing like what the Valkyrie had been used to hearing. It was different from the noise that had always inhabited around the castle, Valhalla, the battlefield and it’s distant roar, that of the angry and the dying screams and the sounds of metal clanging, having permeated near permanent across the vast expanse that was the Plains of Idavoll. It was war that she was used to, the fighting, the sights of it, the smells, and especially that of the sounds. Anything else was foreign and unwelcome, Lenneth confused by this odd kind of silence. So quiet was this place that Lenneth could actually hear the sound of a songbird’s chirping.

She processed the information that came with the sound, Lenneth understanding it had to be daylight for this species of bird to be up and about. However strangeness abounded with that bird’s presence, Lenneth wondering why she did not hear any other birds chirping. It couldn’t be the fault of the voices, those soft and occasional murmurs of people that passed by so near to her. Most of their voices were too soft and too muffled, Lenneth unable to make out clearly any of the words. Hushed though they were, there was no disguising the sound of a woman’s giggle.

Lenneth couldn’t help herself, she frowned, so surprised and taken aback by that giggle. Laughter of any kind was such a strange, foreign sound to Lenneth, the unending war that had plagued the heavens leaving little to smile about. To the Gods and the Goddesses, to the einherjar, and especially to the Valkyries. Always so serious and intent on their duties, Lenneth could not remember a time when she and her sisters had had a real reason to laugh. Especially not so happily, with such joy infusing the voice and the heart.

Lenneth might have tried to lose herself to a memory of just exactly when she had heard either one of her sisters’ last laugh, if not for the feel of something—someone TOUCHING her. In an overly familiar manner that was absolutely foreign to the Valkyrie, with hands that were not like any she had ever felt. Softer somehow, and lacking the callouses that came with the handling of a weapon, these hands spoke of the life of privilege that this person had led. It was more than that. This person, whoever HE was, had never known anything of hardship or that of traditional work. Luxury was the life that these hands were used to, everything from their home’s surrounding, to whatever it was that they actually did. 

With a frown of disapproval, Lenneth tried to stir awake enough to open her eyes. They were still too, too heavy, and the rest of her wasn’t faring much better. Her limbs didn’t want to move, a weight upon them that helped to keep her down. The soft mattress at her back, the plump pillow beneath her head, both worked to seduce her back into sleep. It was the hands that kept her grounded, that kept Lenneth from slipping back into the enchanted slumber. It was HIS fingers that shockingly gripped firm hold of the bare part of one of her arms.

She wasn’t that used to being touched, especially by a man. To feel him so near to her, his hand on her exposed skin? It wasn’t just shocking, it was alarming. Her apprehension made her stir, Lenneth struggling the rest of the way awake. Even as her eyelids quivered, even as she fought to draw in a breath, Lenneth became aware of more and more things in regard to the man. Such as the fact that it was HIS warmth on her, a firm, insistent pressure placed against her lips. That firm feel had her gasping, Lenneth unprepared for her first kiss. Or for the sensations that followed, the tongue that not only licked over her lips but past them, the man taking from Lenneth a deeply thorough taste.

His lips remained a constant on hers, his eager mouth an unyielding, physical manifestation of his desires. She felt every tremor, tasted the very excitement from him. Smelt it, that faint bit of spice, that foreign undercurrent of a man. Clean smelling, but holding a whisper of something, something beyond his choice of soap. In many ways it reminded her of the God’s use of ether, but Lenneth couldn’t place the reason as to WHY.

Confused by it, by him, Lenneth’s alarm only ratcheted skywards, finding there was a hand creeping in between her and the mattress. Fingers touched at the small of her back, Lenneth reacting. Arching up to get away from them, her body only ended up pressed against his. She might have almost panicked then, Lenneth realizing that the man was somehow on top of her. Such a delicate position was far too intimate to be allowed, Lenneth finding the strength at last to lift up her arms. 

With a push of her hands, with a snapping open of her eyes, Lenneth then jolted completely awake, finding a fitful sound was escaping from her throat. New feelings and sensations assaulted her, the provocative glide of her body against his, the soft whisper of fabric rustling, some light gauzy material brushing a reaction into the very tips of her breasts. There was expensive silk against the palm of her hand, a kingdom’s wealth upon his shoulders. That only helped confirm Lenneth’s earlier assessment that this man was a being well acquainted with luxury.

As she pushed at his shoulders, Lenneth tried to reel back against the bed. He wasn’t fully on top of her, the man more twisted and bent over from a sitting position besides her. It left her with only his torso to contend with, his torso and those ever so ardent lips, the soft smack of them against hers a downright suffocating pressure. Lenneth felt light headed from the kisses, her entire world spinning around dizzily. If she hadn’t already been laying down, her knees would have buckled for sure, Lenneth desperately inhaling. With it came his longing sigh, the fingers on her back trying to stroke reassurance against her skin. Rigid in response, Lenneth voiced her displeasure, a deep grumbling sound that might have almost passed for a snarl. It was that sound that the man reacted to, the kiss slowly breaking, as he let her shove at him one last time. Lenneth found herself not only breathing heavily, but blinking rapidly in response. In that precise moment, red faced with anger, and thinking her hands the only thing that might keep him back, Lenneth looked up into his eyes. That deep amethyst color, so dark with his arousal, seemed to pierce Lenneth from deep within. Her lips parted on an unvoiced gasp, the enchantment trying to take hold of her heart. An entire rush of overwhelming feelings went through her then, their leash tightening around her as Odin’s spell tried to force Lenneth to love this man.

She attempted to fight it, Lenneth refusing to melt for him, for ANY man, so completely. The beat beat beat of her heart thundered in her ears, an unfamiliar, unwanted, unneeded ache birthing inside her. Warmth filled her cheeks, and her eyelids fluttered, Lenneth’s hands no longer trying to push the man away. She was simply there, touching him, but the man didn’t press the advantage. Those soft feelings now inside her, Lenneth had to fight to harden herself against them. Against him, the woman withdrawing her hands from his shoulders, so that Lenneth could instead dig her own nails into her palm. 

A sharp pain spiked within her at that, Lenneth having pressed hard enough to break flesh. She didn’t care, the pain such that it helped to clear her mind of the troubling feelings that were being forced upon her. To hold back the worst of her love, Lenneth feeling it’s ache in her breast, the enchantment still keeping a tight hold on her. She pushed it back, but not enough, Lenneth aware of the man, of the uncharacteristic attention that she was paying to the most striking of his features.

His eyes, that bright blaze of color, that vivid jewel like shade, the amethyst, were a stark expression of sexual intensity. She shivered under that focus, Lenneth caught by the beauty of his gaze, and the heated emotion within it. Nothing could detract from that beauty, from that or the look that he was giving her. A passionate reverence, a look of such immense longing, that Lenneth could almost think that this man was the one affected by the enchantment.

She had no experience with kisses, and even less so with passion. Lenneth simply wasn’t used to being looked at as a sexual being, as a person to be desired. It made her face grow hotter yet, Lenneth trying to look away, to look down. His hand on her cheek stopped her, Lenneth’s eyes darting upwards. This time when she looked into his eyes, Lenneth noticed that her face was reflected in that jewel like gaze. It might as well have been that of a stranger, the blush on her cheeks, and the startled look of her eyes not anything that belonged on the face of a proud warrior maiden.

The enchantment at fault for the change in her demeanor, Lenneth found a dozen compulsions birthing to life inside her. Her fingers itched with the desire to touch him, to caress over his pale skin. Her lips tingled with the memory of his kiss, the compulsion urging her to press her mouth to his for yet another. She positively yearned to feel his body’s weight on her, to feel the press of his flesh against hers. Lenneth even wanted to stroke fingers through his hair, to add further to the rakish mess that it was already styled in.

Other desires were upon her, unspeakable passions bringing to life the parts of her that were the most female in nature. THAT unsettled her the most, Lenneth fighting against that needy ache, her thighs pressing firmly together to stem the flow of a tide within her. Again her nails dug into her flesh, Lenneth fighting against the compulsions, against every last one of them. She almost looked away from him then, but the part of her that still remembered being a Valkyrie first and foremost was suspicious.

It was the Valkyrie in her that insisted that this man was her enemy. That this man was her punishment. But more than that, Lenneth instincts screamed at her to remain wary, to not leave an opening for him to get into her heart, or into her bed. That steel determination flashed in her eyes, Lenneth staring at her opponent with an icy cold glare. She still felt the enchantment, still felt it’s pull like a whisper in her ear, urging Lenneth to pull this man down on top of her. She actually trembled with her need, with the desire to kiss him, with a violent want to do more than just kiss. Lenneth barely managed to stop herself from opening her arms in invite, the Valkyrie not wanting to fall in love with this man.

As she fought the compulsion, she tried to focus on other things. Tried to notice something beyond the opponent in front of her. He was all that she could see, all that consumed her, Lenneth instead noticing other details about him. Like the fact his hair was colored so dark a brown as to resemble the sweet chocolate that Lenneth had sometimes favored on occasion. Or how his gold pane glasses complimented similar flecks of that color in the center of his eyes. 

Those eyes did a slow blinking, the man betraying his shock at the venomous look that Lenneth was trying to maintain towards him. It was clear that he hadn’t expected any sort of defiance, and in truth, Lenneth wasn’t sure how she was managing what little she had left. She could feel it wavering in her heart, the ache there going from soft to hard and then back again. It affected her, played havoc with Lenneth’s mind, body and her emotions, the woman again trying to push the man away from her.

A tilt of his head in response, the man still bent over her with that intent look on his face. He wasn’t trying to kiss her, wasn’t trying to do anything more than study her face in turn. The look in his eyes had brightened to a curious kind of wonder, his lips crooking in a sort of half smile. She tried to maintain her glare, but that half smile was her undoing, Lenneth unable to keep from noticing how soft and sensually shaped his mouth now appeared to be. 

The feel of his kiss branded onto her, Lenenth’s mouth trembled with it’s own need, the woman licking nervously at her swollen lips. The man took that as an invite, pressing into her staying hand. Lenneth first gasped in protest, and then instinct took over, the Valkyrie shoving hard. With that near violent push, Lenneth managed to topple him off and away from her. She slid on the bed in the process, hearing fabrics rustle and feeling the glide of them against her skin. Lenneth then practically threw herself off of the bed, pleased that her legs were stable enough to support her steps away from the man.

Legs strong and sure, it was the skirt that almost brought her down. The very heavy skirt that fell down nearly past her ankles, Lenneth actually tripping over it’s length. This was no Valkyries' uniform, no lightweight skirt made for battle. This was some velvet and silk contraption, all frills and lace that molded tightly to her waist. She felt confined in it, noting the skirts even trailed out behind her, ever ready to snag on any and all inconvenient outcroppings.

As annoyed as she was with the dress, Lenneth was still intent on the man. The room itself remained a mystery, Lenneth managing to get only the briefest of impressions. That of open windows and a closed door, that of a cage that held the songbird that she must have had heard singing earlier. The little creature continued with an excited chirping of it’s voice, flapping it’s small wings in the cramp confines of it’s cage. But nothing that the bird tried, could set it free, the sweet tiny creature remaining as trapped as Lenneth herself now felt.

That comparison made was almost bitter, Lenneth fighting Odin’s enchantment, and the effect that this man was having on her as a result. He had stood up off the bed seconds after her push. Lenneth was tensed for a fight, not sure what else to expect from him. Would he hurt her, would he try to force her any more than he had already done? 

Right now he seemed content to do nothing, instead turning to just study her. There was no mistaking the surprised look in his eyes, the man cocking his head to the side in response to the defensive posture of his bride to be. A long silence followed that look, the only sound in the room that of the bird’s excited flapping and it’s high pitched squeaks. It reacted as though it knew of the tension in the room, as though it was mirroring the unease that was in Lenneth’s heart. 

Such was the upset beating of her conflicted heart that Lenneth at first didn’t understand the words of the man’s voice speaking to her. But there was no missing that sound, that rich throaty purr of a voice that made Lenneth’s insides quiver and cramp with need. This voice wasn’t just commanding, it was sexy, holding a distinct accent to it. She couldn’t place it, couldn’t get her mind to work past the compulsion enough to think of just where he might have come from. But Lenneth wanted to hear it again, wanted to listen to the man speak in that velvety voice all day and night long. 

It didn’t matter what he had to say, just so long as he kept on talking, the love compulsion would be satisfied. That soothing, charismatic tone didn’t lose one ounce of it’s charm, not even when the man’s comment made Lenneth’s blood run cold.

“Lord Odin boasted that there was no coming back from his enchantments. No fighting it’s hold." Was that disappointment that he was voicing, or was the man merely marveling at her strengths? Lenneth wasn’t entirely sure, the only certain thing that she did know was that even with that possible disappointment, he still sounded sinful, that voice trying to lull her into a false sense of security. But no voice could sound THAT nice, the compulsion surely at work here. It’s enchantment wasn’t just trying to make her fall in love with this man, it was trying to drive her to distraction, making everything about him seem wonderful and worth admiring. 

“Lenneth?” Her name was the sweetest of sighs on his lips, the man looking concerned. He’d repeat her name, that questioning look alight in his eyes, but he also made no real move towards her. Instead he waited patiently for her answer. 

The chains of love trying to tighten around her, Lenneth feared that too big a distraction would settle the love spell all the more firmly on her. She shook her head to fight it’s effect, to shake free of her more affectionate thoughts. Instead of being flattered that he already knew her name, Lenneth chose to be angry, letting the displeasure of it sound off in her voice.

“You know my name.’ She said. “But I know NOT of you.”

Another steady blink of his eyes, that amethyst gaze never wavering from her. Not even when the man began a slow, respectful bow, the man begging for her forgiveness. “Ah forgive me.” He said, and Lenneth fought a blush, the compulsion leaving her far too pleased by this simple show of his regard. "My name is Lezard Valeth. I am Lord of this castle."

His name a whispering echo in her mind, Lenneth swore the enchantment only grew stronger. She could barely think to ask questions, let alone speak most of them out loud. Who was he, and why had Odin deemed him a suitable punishment? But those words wouldn’t form, Lenneth instead stating, “It was you that broke my sleep.”

The man, this Lezard, nodded, looking quite pleased with himself. Lenneth found herself frowning, the words all wooden on her tongue. “That means you are to be my husband.” The statement came out flatly, and if Lezard took offense to her tone he did not show it, instead smiling brightly at her. 

"That I am." Came his agreement. "It is a pleasure to meet you, my lady." He was already stepping towards her, hand reaching to take hold of hers. She didn't let Lezard complete the action, Lenneth sidestepping him with a purposeful avoidance.

“I cannot lay claim to feeling that same pleasure.” The words cold and haughty, the truth didn’t entirely run through them. It was Odin’s enchantment at work again, the spell trying to seduce Lenenth into liking everything about Lezard, and that included the situation that she now found herself in. It still couldn’t quell the resentment that lived on inside her, but that anger was tempered somewhat by Lezard himself. Gratitude birthed inside her, Lenneth relieved to note that this man wasn’t trying to pursue or persist in touching her.

With his eyes meeting hers, the man used the same hand that had reached out towards Lenneth, to instead run fingers against his own scalp. It upset the balance of his bangs, brown hair falling messily in place over an eye. Again it was her fingers that itched, Lenneth fighting the impulse to approach him and set to rights his hair. Her fingers instead curled against her palm, Lenneth taking comfort in the pain that sparked at her nails’s pressing touch.

“I must admit, this situation is not exactly like I had imagined.” Her voice strangled inside her, a rude kind of scoffing sound escaping Lenneth at Lezard’s words. 

“I’ll just bet it isn’t.” The enchantment couldn’t keep the words from sounding sharp, Lenneth almost birthing to life bitterness as she thought and remembered just how she had been awakened. The touch that had been upon her, the liberties that this Lezard had taken. The heat of that memory, brought color to vivid life on her skin, Lenneth upset and unable to hide it. It was the enchantment at work again, the spell such that if it couldn’t make her love him, it would instead settle for exposing Lenneth’s every secret to him.

If Lezard was offended by her tone, by the upset in her eyes, he did not show it. His fingers stopped their almost skittish play against his scalp, the man letting out a sigh. “I was well aware that this type of situation is not one most Valkyries can enjoy.”

“Then you understand, right?” The enchantment tried to stop her, tried to lessen the impact of the words that Lenneth then delivered. “I do not love you.” She said. “Nor do I WANT to.”

There was a quick blinking of his eyes, but other than that betrayal of expression, Lezard showed no other reaction. Again she wondered if he was disappointed, the enchantment looping chains about her heart, almost making Lenneth want to reach out to him. The urge to comfort versus the necessity of being cruel waged battle inside her, Lenneth making fists at her side, as she leveled him with another stare.

“I also have NO desire to be HERE.” It wasn’t outright cruel, but neither was Lenneth in any way prepared to feign at enthusiasm over the situation her failure had put her in. Her voice didn’t waver, Lenneth pleased at the strong, determined sound of it that was mismatched against the conflict going on inside her.

“It took a King’s decree to bring you here.” His looked had turned serious, the man still staring at her. “”I am under no delusions when it comes to your wants and desires. Of that you can be assured of.”

She wasn’t happy with that, Lenneth not liking nor needing the reminder of the fate Odin had decided for her. The punishment, Lenneth’s failure such that she had not been given a single courtesy or choice. It wasn’t just that she had been given away, that the woman had been stripped of her godhood, that Lenneth had been denied the chance to try and set right her sister, Silmeria’s fate. It was ALL of it, and it was him, Lenneth wondering just how much Lezard knew of the situation. Did he know of why she had been chosen, or why she had been brought here? Did Lezard have any idea of why HE had been chosen in turn, why Odin had deemed him a fitting punishment for Lenneth’s failure? Such questions only brought with them a sharp pang to her heart, Odin’s love enchantment working to poison her line of thought, to force on her a love that would strip away any and all other concerns. Nothing would remain of Lenneth then, nothing but a slavish devotion to this Lezard.

The pain of her nails tearing at her skin had Lenneth making a sound before she could stop herself. The Valkyrie’s lips then thinned into a flat line, the woman hardly happy with this betraying sign of the inner struggle that waged on inside her. Without even realizing it, she then breathed better, Lenneth free of some of the worst of her suffocating emotions, when the man, when Lezard, glanced away from her face. 

“You’re hurting yourself.” His eyes were trained on one of her hands, Lenenth realizing that she had done enough damage for thin trickles of blood to have seeped out past her clenched fingers. Lenneth opened her mouth, prepared to tell this Lezard that she was fine, when he LOOKED at her once more. That amethyst gaze stole all protests from her, Lenneth almost numb inside, as the man approach her, the lacy white cravat at his throat being unraveled, and pressed against her injured palm.

It was such a soft gentle touch, a reverence that left Lenenth shaken, the woman actually trembling in place at Lezard’s hands. She was held frozen by the look in his eyes, by the feel of that exquisite cloth of the cravat being wound about her hand. Lenneth wouldn’t be entirely free of the spell, until Lezard glanced down to knot the cravat into it’s place, and then all of her upset flooded forward, her anger over the helplessness of her situation wanting an outlet of it’s own.

“I KNOW what my King has commanded of me.” She told Lezard, quickly biting out the words before he could look up at her with that beautifully colored gaze. “I will not do him OR you an insult, by refusing to do my sworn duty. But neither will I take any pleasure from it.”

Combatant as she was, there was still a melting of the iciest recesses of her heart, Lenneth taken back by the sight of Lezard’s smile. What began as a slight quirking of his lips bloomed outright into a confidant expression, the man hardly bothered by Lenneth’s bluster and bravado.

“Well you certainly do look upon your duty with resignation.” A curt nod was all that she could manage, the only answer she could give expression to in the moment. “But I think that you will be surprised at just WHAT you can enjoy from a union with me.”

That seducing tone, that self satisfied curving of that sensual mouth, and the look of dark promise in Lezard’s eyes, all had Lenneth reacting. She FELT the blush on her cheeks, even as her eyebrows raised with her expressed disbelief, Lenenth ill at ease with Lezard’s smug overconfidence. “Oh? Are you THAT sure of yourself?”

“Quite.”

A harsh sound escaped her, a hoarse bit of laughter that wasn’t as full of contempt as Lenneth would have liked. “You are both arrogant and overconfident.”

“Is it arrogant to to think that I could make you happy?” Lezard wanted to know. “Is it overconfidence or just my deepest desire and hope that you could learn to like it here? Is it selfish to want my bride to be able to thrive in her new life?”

She wanted to scream at him then. Lenneth wanted to rail against Lezard and her fate, against the unfair injustice that had been done to her and her sisters. Most of all, Lenneth wanted to cry out in protest, hating that Lezard had expressed a desire that he hoped would one day find her HAPPY.

“You know NOTHING of me.” Lenneth finally settled on hissing. “Not of who I am, not of who I was. You know nothing of my life, of my wants, of my needs. It is absolutely preposterous for you to even think to try. You can’t make a woman like me happy, a woman you just met, a woman you do not love and who does not love you!” 

Her heart fluttered in protest at all that she was saying, and at the sight of his smile fading, the light in his amethyst eyes somehow now dimmed. Lenneth braced herself for a complete and total change in his demeanor, half expecting Lezard to strike her for her impudence. 

“Are you quite finished?” He then asked her, and no real emotion had leaked into his voice with that inquiry. She wondered how that could be, how Lezard could possibly rein so tight a control over his anger and disdain, his cold disappointments.

“For now.” Lenneth answered with a stiff nod.

“Then allow me to offer up a countering view.” He had let go of her hand during the worst of her anger, but he hadn’t once cowered before it. His eyes took took on a determined sheen, Lezard staring at her as he spoke the following. “It’s true that we have just met, that you do not love me. Neither one of us knows much about the other, not our likes, wants and desires. But Lenneth? We can LEARN.” There it was, that off putting smile, that sensual expression that held the promise of wicked intentions. Lezard’s determined look did not waver, the man stepping forward to close any distance Lenneth might have tried to put between them. She couldn’t stand her ground, but neither could Lenneth yield to him, the woman watching with suspicion as Lezard extended out his arm and his hand to her. 

“We can take as much time as you need.” He added. “We needn’t rush this….”

She didn’t take his hand, but neither did Lenneth find the strength and disdain to slap his arm away. Instead Lenneth looked into his eyes, into the hope that she saw blooming dark in the amethyst color. The astonishment eased away some of her tension, Lenneth searching his expression of any sign of deceit. 

“You are not...eager to consummate this union?” She inquired, waiting for the lie. So braced was she for it, that at first Lenneth didn’t comprehend the words that were actually spoken.

“I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t.”

She nearly gaped astonishment at him, his blunt honesty such that she was torn in her feelings over the truth that Lezard had just admitted to. It was Odin’s enchantment at work again, the magic wanting Lenneth to be flattered regardless of the fact that Lezard’s admitted desire upset her greatly. 

With that push and pull of emotions, with the right and wrong of it inside her, Lezard begrudgingly scored a point with Lenneth’s bespelled heart. It then skipped a beat at the deepening of the man’s smile, Lezard’s eyes taking on a lighthearted sheen that was so at odds with the darker look Lenneth had already acquainted with him.

“I don’t want to do anything to make you uncomfortable.” He had then added. She couldn’t believe it, Lenneth’s lips parting on a stunned sound. 

“This whole situation makes me uncomfortable.” She blurted out with that sound. Was it Odin’s love spell, or something else to blame for the words spilling from her? The confidence that she was sharing. “I’m completely out of my element. Not just with these feelings, but with the expectations that might be put on me as a result. I was raised on a battle field, left to toil in war for centuries!" 

His hand had never lowered, Lezard still urging her to take hold of it. “It will take some time and adjustment, of course. But given a chance, you can learn to accept this new life. To not only accept it, but to thrive in it!”

She simply couldn’t believe, couldn’t imagine the future that Lezard himself saw for her. “How?” Lenneth demanded in a plaintive tone. I have no purpose here, no reason to exist…"

“For now, let ME be that reason.” He had finally grown tired of waiting, reaching to clasp hold of her hands with his. “Together we can work to find you your purpose!”

His was an earnest warmth, the looks in his eyes alight with the belief of his hopes. That voice didn’t just whisper promises to her, it made Lenneth want to believe, the Valkyrie nearly caught up in Lezard’s excitement. On some level the woman realized and understood that she NEEDED to try to make the best of things, that for her own peace of mind, Lenneth had to try. That was nearly the tipping point that overcame all her doubts, that understanding working together with Odin’s spell over her heart. Nearly pushed to accepting, at the last possible second, Lenneth managed to fight free of Lezard’s words, and the magic of the enchantment.

Her eyes staring not at Lezard, but at the clasping together of her hands with his, Lenneth all but snarled venom at him. “My King would have me be nothing more than your slave.” She jerked her hands free of him, defiant and wanting to hurt Lezard the way that Lenneth herself had been so hurt. “That is my punishment.” She said. “YOU are my punishment.” The Valkyrie had raised her head as she had announced this, her blue eyes alight with all of her anger. That challenging gaze met his head on, Lenneth almost satisfied to see Lezard looking so shocked. 

He seemed to forget how to breath, to speak, a single, solitary word choked out of him. “Punishment?”!” 

Never taking her eyes from his, Lenneth was almost mocking as she nodded, quirking her eyebrow at him. “Did you not even know?” She asked. “Were you so unaware of the circumstances around your acquisition of a Valkyrie for your bride?” Silent, Lezard could only gape at her as he quickly shook his head no. Lenneth frowned in response, actually sighing out loud. “Then it seems we both enter into this union with little real knowledge to us.” She would have turned her back on him then, if Lenneth wasn’t still so wary, so suspicious of Lezard himself. “I am NOT your typical Valkyrie bride.” She added, none of her agitation having lessened with the announcement.

“Now that I don’t doubt.” He spoke it, but it was such a soft murmur, that Lenneth wasn’t sure that Lezard had meant to be heard. Nor did she allow herself to dwell on just what the man could have meant with such an agreement.

Wanting him to understand her, absolutely needing him to realize and know of the circumstances that had brought Lenneth to him, the Valkyrie found herself confiding to Lezard. “I was not retired from the battlefield due to a physical injury.” Lenneth fought not to close her hand into another fist, the unfairness of her fate, the injustice of it, agitating the Valkyrie further than she already was. “I was still able to fight, still able and willing to stand with Odin's warriors against our enemies." Her temper flared, as did her despair, Lenneth almost hissing in a despondent tone. “Why even now, I should be out on the Plains of Idavoll, leading our einherjar to do battle against the undead...” Once she might have even boasted of the victories her leadership would have guaranteed the soldiers under her command, but Lenneth had not forgotten the slaughter that had happened. The massacre that had befallen valkyrie and einherjar alike, Lenneth remembering the bodies, and that of her sister’s limp form forcibly embraced by the vampire king himself. 

Almost caught by that memory, by her failure, Lenneth startled in place at the sound of Lezard’s soft question. “Then why? What happened to lead Odin to have to punish you?” At her sharp look, and at the pain of her failure echoing not just in her thoughts, but showing on her face, Lezard looked almost contrite. “It’s not too bold of me to ask, is it?” He then wanted to know.

In a way it was exactly that, and yet Lenneth also knew that Lezard deserved to know. Not just of her disgrace, but the reason why it had led to the woman being punished. It didn’t stop the angry look in her eyes, Lenneth downright ruthless as she spoke. “If you are to be my husband, then perhaps you have a right to know.”

Those words, that grudging acceptance, did not make it any easier for Lenneth to speak on her failure. Especially to this man, this stranger, who was to be part of her punishment. The anger and the pain that lanced through her, had Lenneth at last turning her back on Lezard. Let him strike her down for all that she cared, the woman unable to stand being so close to him for any longer. 

With her arms crossing over her breasts, with Lenneth hugging herself for a comfort she could not accept, the woman strode away from Lezard. She would not speak until she was before the cage of the songbird, the woman staring down at the tiny creature who had finally quieted down. As though it too wanted to be privy to her secrets, to her failure.

"Lenneth?" prodded Lezard when she let the silence stretch out for longer than was merited.

“Would it surprise you to know that I was not an only child?” That was how Lenneth chose to start, the woman staring down at the songbird inside it’s metal prison. “My parents were blessed with not two, but three daughters. Hrist is the name of my older sister...” It was impossible to speak of her, to speak of them both without Lenneth conjuring their images to mind. She could almost smile, almost until the images distorted, Lenneth remembering Hrist’s scream, and spying Silmeria as she was fed upon by the vampire Brahms.

“And the youngest?” Lezard voice had urged her to fill in the silence once more.

“My sister Silmeria.” Lenneth answered in a grim tone. She had to extend real effort not to dig her nails into the soft flesh of her arms, all of her fondness and her love for her sisters tainted with the pain that she had come to associate with them over what had happened. “We’ve been at war with the undead for centuries..and there are those older than we, who have been at it for a millennia.”

“The undead...”

“Ghoulish creatures.” Lenneth spoke over him. “Nightmarish monsters all united under the vampire’s rule.”

“Ah yes….I believe the Lord of the Undead is a vampire who goes by the name of Brahms.” There wasn’t many that hadn’t heard that name at least once in their lifetime, and still to hear it spoken by him, by anyone, set Lenneth’s hackles raising.

“Brahms...” She all but growled his name, and this time her nails scratched over the flesh of both of her arms. It was no less than what she had done to the palm of her hand, and yet Lenneth was heedless of the pain, the hurt that she was now causing herself. “He is obsessed with my sister, Silmeria. Has been for a long time now.”

She heard the soft determined footfalls, spied Lezard’s drawing nearness out of the corner of her eye. “My sister Silmeria was the one who was injured on the battlefield. She was the one due to be retired and wed. All she need to do was wait and be safely delivered to her soon to be husband.”

“What went wrong?” Lezard asked. He was already reaching for her, touching fingers to hers, gently but insistently prying them away from the scratching she had still been doing. She tried to fight him, to at least shrug him off, but Lezard would have none of it. He not only persisted, the man chastising her, his spoken reminder inadvertent in the hurt that it brought to Lenneth’s mind. “You are mortal now, Goddess.” He had stated. “Even the smallest of scratches can lead to a deadly infection.”

He had another cloth in his hand, a handkerchief that Lezard had drawn from a spare pocket. It was just as fine a material as the cravat, but made even bloodier from the number Lenneth had done to her arms. She might not have let him tend to her, but his warning earned her grudging acceptance. Though she might not be willing, and certainly not at all happy, Lenneth wouldn’t dishonor her duty as a Valkyrie, and let anything stand in the way of the woman surviving to act out her punishment.

Without even a nodded thanks, Lenneth resumed speaking. “I was to be the head of the party that would escort my sister to Alfheim. The undead were never even supposed to come close, our sister Hrist leading those fiendish factions away from Valhalla. With the warring on both sides serving as distraction, Silmeria should have been able to make her escape.”

“We were fools to believe that.” Lenneth announced. “The vampires weren’t on the run, weren’t tricked by my sister’s feint. Brahms and his kind instead lay a trap of their own, those blasphemous beings laying in wait inside the Forest of Spirits.” Lezard was listening with rapt attention, his hand pressing the handkerchief against the worst of her scratches. “Ambushed and overwhelmed, it was a slaughter. A massacre on the side of the divine. Only I survived such a nightmare...”

“Don’t blame yourself for that….”

“Why should I not? My King does! He faults me for the failure, for the lives lost, and for the blasphemous act I had allowed the vampire King to get away with.”

“Blasphemous act?” questioned Lezard, and Lenneth’s eyes flashed, her anger and pain, her abject heartbreak, tearing up the very expression on her face.

“My sister wasn’t just stolen.” She announced. “She was TAKEN. That bastard fed from her. I bore witness to that much with my own eyes, unable to stop him. Unable to save her, or stop the grievous sin he forced her to commit.”

The question was in his eyes, Lenneth unable to suppress her pain, or the agitation that was making her shake. “He made her drink of his blood. Do you even know what that means? Can you imagine what she will become? What ruin she will bring upon herself and countless others?!”

“She’ll become one of the undead...”

“She will lose her very SOUL.” Lenneth proclaimed, and with it came her exhaustion. “I failed her.” Lenneth said in a broken despairing tone. “I failed every last one of them!”

“You place too much of the burden on yourself.” Lezard protested.

“What do you know?!” She scoffed. “You weren’t even there!”

“That even one person survived, is a miracle.” But he hadn’t asked her just how she had managed that feat, Lenneth grimacing at the memory of just how easily Brahms had been able to defeat her.

“My King doesn’t think so. Nor is he anywhere as understanding about a failure as you seem to be.” She was trying to force down the pain, the anger, and her unceasing worry for her sister. The effort to keep all that at bay, crept into her voice, Lenneth sounding ever so tired as she spoke. “He can see nothing but my faults, my FAILURE. A failure he deemed grave enough to warrant a most extreme of punishments.” She looked Lezard in the eyes as she said this.”It wasn’t enough to retire me ahead of my time, to strip me of divinity. To marry me off with little idea of who or what would be having me. No...none of this was enough, Odin would have me lose my free will, my heart taken just as surely as Silmeria’s life, her future, was stolen!”

Somehow Lezard had managed not to have flinched under all of that. Instead Lenneth’s near unforgiving tirade had softened the expression on his face, Lezard gazing at Lenneth with something that might have been PITY. She couldn’t bear it if it really was that, her temper already flaring to life long before he tried to offer his condolences. 

“I am truly sorry for your losses, for ALL of them.”

“Your sorry does not bring me back my sister, or my honor!” Lenneth practically shouted at him. “The vampires have cost me EVERYTHING!”

“You STILL have your LIFE.” Lezard was quick to point out.

“Life!? What good is my life if I cannot even use it to save Silmeria?!” She demanded, attempting to pull away. Not without some effort exerted, but the man managed to hold onto the former Valkyrie Goddess.

Maintaining eye contact with her, Lezard spoke. “You are suffering from survivor’s guilt. A common enough affliction, and one that is none too easy to work through. But in time….” At the scoffing sound Lenneth made at that, Lezard sighed. “Perhaps then, it wasn’t so much punishment as it was a kindness from Odin, when he attempted to enchant you to love me?”

She stared at Lezard like he was half out of his mind, Lenneth shaking with an urge to do a very real violence to him. “How can you say that?” She asked in a strangled tone of voice. 

“I..I meant no insult.” Lezard correctly hastily. “But you can’t live out the rest of your life, mourning your sister and lost comrades. Anymore then you can spend that time blaming yourself for what has happened, or torturing yourself with the things that you might have done differently. That’s not a good life, and you survived for a reason. You need to do those lost honor, you need to LIVE, Lenneth. You need to embrace life and that which it offers you.”

She was still staring at him, mouth agape with her shock. He hadn’t made her see the validity of what he was suggesting, anymore than Lezard had made Lenneth believe that Odin had meant this marriage to be anything but a punishment. 

“With you?” She finally managed to say. Lenneth had wanted to sneer, but Lezard had left her to stunned to manage that or much of ANY expression.

“It would be a START.” He told her with a smile.

“Why would you even care?” Lenneth wanted to know. “I am a just a stranger to you...”

“Ah but you are a little more than that.” Lezard reminded her. “Yes, we might not know each other just yet, but one day it will be different. One day I want to be more to you, than just the man your king forced you to marry.” 

She couldn’t help the suspicion that crept into her voice. “Oh?”

I want to be your friend.” Her startled look of surprise, earned yet another smile from Lezard. “”Will you let? Will you allow me at least the chance to try?” He was no longer trying to restrain her, but then Lenneth was also no longer trying to pull free of him. “I’ve no reason to try to trick you. My offer of friendship is just that, no schemes or hidden agendas to be found. None save for one.”

“And that is?” She asked guardedly.

“So that we can get to truly know one another better.” He explained.

Still maintaining that guarded tone, Lenneth cautiously spoke. “I don’t know if I can be your friend...”

“You don’t know, or you don’t WANT to?” He asked, and Lenneth hesitated. Odin’s enchantment was still inside her heart, affecting her emotions, messing with her mind. It had never stopped playing with her, trying to make Lenneth be amenable to everything about Lezard, including just about anything he had suggested. The Valkyrie knew that Odin’s enchantment would settle for nothing less than her completely falling, Lenneth in love with the man who had kissed her awake. So strong was the enchantment, that it would be so easy to give in. So easy and even freeing, Lenneth no longer needing to fight, to think, if she would just let the spell over take her. She was stubborn though, Lenneth fighting both the magic and Lezard’s offer of friendship. 

She didn’t think she could afford to let Lezard get that close to her, Lenneth saying as much out loud. Lezard was hardly turned aside by that. “Can you afford NOT to?” He had countered, and Lenneth unsure, had simply shrugged. “Ah well, you needn’t decide on it right this very second. My offer of friendship stands for however long that you need to decide towards accepting it or not.” 

With that, the man had finally let go of her. “Well Lenneth, would you like to explore your new home?” He had set aside the bloodied cloth, Lezard seeming satisfied that Lenneth’s self inflicted wounds weren’t a danger to her.

“Yes.” Lenneth quickly agreed. Just about anything was a better prospect than remaining alone with Lezard in this room. “I am quite curious about where I have ended up.” She added in a conversational tone.

Lezard drew up short at that off hand comment, his look seeming shocked. “Odin did not tell you even that much at least?” It was more than just shock, Lezard was dismayed. “Your King has a sick sense of humor, leaving such explanations to me.”

“Does he now?” Lenneth asked, with a confused look in her eyes. “Odin is known for many things, but somehow...humor isn’t one of them.” Lezard seemed to have no comment to that utterance, the man instead gesturing for Lenneth to follow him. He almost seemed to hesitate before the bedroom’s main door, as though Lezard was bracing himself for something unpleasant. 

“Is there a problem?” She didn’t understand his hesitation, and Lezard didn’t offer up any immediate explanations. Instead he muttered something softly under his breath, the door then opening to reveal a long and wide corridor, and the few people that were walking about it. Most of them were dressed in the uniform of a servant, and those each carried things as they hurried off on their appointed tasks. 

There was also a few dressed in finer clothing, the likes of which made Lenneth think they were of noble birth. This group seemed to have nothing better to do, loitering about the hall, holding a hushed conversation. Both they and the servants all turned to look at Lezard and Lenneth, but no introduction or explanation was offered. Lenneth supposed that for right now it didn’t matter, the woman having enough on her mind without having to meet a whole new group of people.

Such as the enchantment, Odin’s magic not anywhere near ready to relinquish it’s hold on Lenneth’s heart. The Valkyrie felt as though she had to maintain a constant vigilance against it, the fight such that it dulled the opulence of her surroundings. Lenneth did see and notice much, such as the intricately painted panelings of the walls, and the very expensive carpets on the floor. The woman saw the statues, and the richly appointed rooms through the open doors that she and Lezard walked past. She wasn’t impressed by such things, but Lenneth did know enough to recognize that Lezard was a very wealthy man. A man who liked having the finest on display, a man who saw no expense spared when it came to decorating his home.

That he could afford to spread such wealth throughout a building of this size frankly amazed her, Lenneth not having realized that anyone could be as well off as the Gods. This castle didn’t quite rival Valhalla, but it was still a marvel. Lenneth found herself wondering just what Lezard did to make his living, and THAT is when she came across the crest. Such was it’s size, that Lenneth would have never NOT noticed it. Larger in size than most mirrors, the crest took up a generous portion of the wall it was adhered to. 

Mystic runes were carved at the base of it, their red glow making her eyes water to look at them for too long. The language the runes spoke in, were of an old and near forgotten tongue, and yet to one who once been an immortal goddess, the language of the ancients was a common enough knowledge. Even if she was slightly rusty on some of the finer nuances.

Almost absentmindedly, Lenneth had translated enough to get out the general gist of what was written. Of how the runes spoke of loyalty to a great Queen, telling of the prosperity that was to be earned at her feet. But that alone might not have been enough to alarm her. It was the image itself, the carvings that had been etched into the stones of the crest. A three legged horse that Lenneth had instantly known to be a Helhest beast was there, leading a chariot in which a single woman could be seen seated inside it. That woman only had half of her face made clear, as though the smooth stone of it had been purposefully left incomplete in giving the Queen her appearance.

“Lenneth? Is everything all right, my lady?”

It was only then, at the sound of Lezard’s voice, that Lenneth realized that she had come to a complete stop. Her body was practically paralyzed with the horror dawning inside her, the shock of her discovery pushing back even that of Odin’s love spell. Lenneth just stood there, her mouth open and gaping, her mind trying not to acknowledge just WHO was the patron Goddess of these people.

She didn’t want to accept it. Lenneth stared at the crest, then forced herself to turn to Lezard. She was shaking with the violent tremors that had overtaken her, Lenneth leaning into Lezard just close enough to breath in deeply of his scent. Her flaring nostrils that had thought they had caught the familiar scent of ether, now knew that it was just different enough. The two similar scents both brought to mind a powerful discharge, but where one was of the divine, the other wasn’t so blessed.

Magic. The scent was of magic. Now that she knew what it was, Lenneth would never ever again mistake it for the other, magic so far removed from the Gods’ ether as to be a pitiful imitation. 

Actually shaking in an attempt to suppress the worst of her horror, it was with the utmost in discomfort that Lenneth addressed Lezard with her questions. “What nation of Midgard have I come to reside in?” So much was already known, the very existence of magic here, betraying Lezard and his people as to what they already were. Yet Lenneth tried to deny it, foolishly hoped that the man would somehow answer with something other than what the Valkyrie knew to be the truth. 

“I have a right to know!” She added, when it appeared Lezard was going to leave her voiced question unanswered.

With a resigned sigh, Lezard seemed to deflate. “That you do.” He agreed, keeping his eyes locked with hers. It was as though he was gauging the reaction that Lenneth was already giving him. “This is Flenceburg.”

“Flenceburg!” She gasped at the confirmation, her hand pressing over her chest as Lenneth staggered back against the wall. She simply couldn’t believe that Odin would do this to her, that her king could be so cruel. Was her failure to keep Silmeria away from Brahms really worth such an extreme punishment? That Odin would willingly send Lenneth among their enemies? Her eyes looked away from Lezard to the crest, finding it was a confirmation that made her shudder. She could almost picture the Queen's appearance now, and that of her mocking smile.

How funny Queen Hel would find the situation. Lenneth was sure that that hated Goddess would find it highly humorous that one of Odin's Valkyries was now to be wed to one of her followers. For once Lenneth didn't have to fight the love enchantment, her horror all consuming. She may not have had much experience on Midgard, but she knew enough to know of Flenceburg. A nation that allied itself with the underworld, and it's Queen. The Goddess Hel of Nifleheim, a ruler who was rumored to hold many dread alliances, the most notorious being that of the undead.

Still completely reeling, Lenneth stared at the crest, wanting to scream with her mounting revulsion, and the rage that was boiling inside of her. How could Odin have done this, how could he have put her in the heart of an enemy nation? How could he expect her to love this man, and to bear children that would one day swear their allegiance to that bitch Goddess Hel? Was Lenneth's failure such that it warranted such an extreme punishment? If Odin thought to make an example of Lenneth, he had surely succeeded. No Valkyrie would ever risk failing him again, for fear of being so dishonored.

“You are handling this better than I would have actually thought.” Lezard had finally broken the silence. She nearly choked at his words, Lenneth too upset to do much more than stand there in a growing display of her shock and her horror. She almost didn’t notice the way that Lezard’s shoulders were sagging with disappointment, the way his very nature seemed to scream of his awkwardness and embarrassment. Lenneth might almost think Lezard was ashamed of his home land, and it would have been a justifiable response. Her reaction might be playing a huge part in that too, as though the man had realized that all of his hopes and his dreams where Lenneth was concerned had gone up in flames.

“I am a Valkyrie.” She said at last. It was both a way of reminding him, and an explanation, Lezard nodding slowly in agreement. “I will honor the agreement.” Though she wouldn’t much like it. “Though I must admit to being quite curious how you managed to make such an arrangement with my King."

Lezard seemed to turn even more uncomfortable at that inquiry, his eyes actually shifting away from her. He was hiding something, that much was obvious. Lenneth stepped towards him, intent on getting her answer.

"The wedding will be in a few days' time." Now he was the one avoiding her touch, Lezard walking ahead of her. "I thought it best to let you acquaint yourself with your new home and it’s people before rushing into the ceremony."

She frowned at his back, Lenneth thinking she would never be at ease with the people of this nation. Not when most if not all would be known followers of Hel, the lot of them sworn to the dark arts in the foul Queen's name. Perhaps even more unbearable was the thought, that unlike her sister Silmeria, there would be no one coming to rescue Lenneth from the predicament she had found herself in. 

Clenching her hands into fists, Lenneth slowly followed after Lezard. The words whispered in her head, but she knew not who to direct her prayers to. The woman would be damned before she would pray to Hel for guidance. But the Valkyrie was also loathe to pray for help from the very king who had betrayed her in so extreme a manner. In the end, she settled on her sister's name, Lenneth wishing Silmeria was somehow faring better than she.

 

To Be Continued

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 9/19/2017 Massive update done of this chapter. Went from around 5000 something words to nearly 12000!
> 
> \---Michelle


	7. Seven

He had been played for a fool. Lezard had known and even accepted it as fact, the man keenly aware of just what he had passed up on. The paradise that he had barred himself from ever setting true foot inside of. His immortal soul traded, damned for all of eternity, and still Lezard was convinced that of the two deals, a life with the Valkyrie for his bride was of the better. What use did Lezard have of a paradise without her? What reason was there to spend an entire eternity alone, when the man could instead have a brief taste of domestic bliss? With a Goddess no less, Lenneth no ordinary female, but that of a Valkyrie maiden. Once a minor deity in her own right, and even made mortal she still reigned magnificent.

The Gods help him, but even at her most dismayed and upset she was a sight. An absolute vision with her pale, luminous skin, and with her bright and expressive blue eyes that had tried and failed at keeping her secrets from him. That beautiful face, those soft sensual lips, and the remembered feel of that woman trembling beneath him. What he wouldn’t give to feel that again, what hadn’t already been so thoroughly bartered away, Lezard gazing upon a woman who was so supremely lovely as to make his heart hurt.

Were all Valkyries like that? No, of course not. His heart hadn’t throbbed to aching life, his soul itself had been left untouched by the vision of divine grace and lethal beauty that had been Odin’s Valkyries in the midst of a battle. He had made note of them but with a cool detachment, Lezard’s mind more curious than anything, analytical of any and all weaknesses that he could have then reported back to his queen. To his patron Goddess, Hel of Nifleheim. Never had Lezard felt more ashamed, never had he hated that Goddess more than he now did, Lezard dismayed. Braced for and still flinching under the Valkyrie’s blatant horror.

There was no words that could be said, no excuses that could be made. No amount of begging that could undo the hard facts of his life. Lezard was what he was, not just damned for his choices, but for his faith, the man owing allegiance to the Goddess who had seen to blessing him with so much. With the life that he had grown accustom to, the wealth and the power, the home and the people under his rule. Everything that Lezard had ever had, and everything that Queen Hel could then choose to take.

Even the Valkyrie was not immune to this, Lezard keenly aware of just how much Hel had poisoned things between them. Lenneth looked at him as though he was a MONSTER, as though she saw not the man in front of her, and certainly not the man who had risked everything on just the chance of her. No longer did those beautiful blue eyes express the internal conflict that had waged on inside her, Lenneth’s love, the chance of it, surely lost to her horror and her disgust. Her revulsion for what---who he was, and just where she now was.

Lezard fought to maintain his own expression, actually struggled to portray an outwards calm that he in no way felt. The man knew that he had failed miserably, all of his own upset and apathetic feelings alive in the language of his own body. His shoulders positively sagged with the weight of them, something very much like shame alight in his eyes. Lezard stared at Lenneth with such a bleak, unblinking expression, watching as the woman tried and failed to pull herself together.

He nodded at the words that she had then said, at the unspoken determination of a woman, a Valkyrie, who was braced to do her duty. Lezard was nothing more than that to Lenneth. No. He was worse than that, the woman having admitted to him that she thought and viewed him as her PUNISHMENT. It took all of his faltering heart’s inner strength to not make a betraying motion, to neither flinch in place nor make fists with his hands. But it hurt all the same, Lezard stung, not just by her rejection, but by her King’s deception. By the last laugh that Odin was having at Lezard’s expense. His cheeks were burning with the heat of that humiliation, and with the anger now growing inside him, Lezard vowing that this was the one secret that would follow him to his grave and there after.

Lenneth would never be privy to the real truth of just how Lezard had come to acquire her. It was a truth that not even Queen Hel suspected, the underworld’s goddess sure to make him pay a thousandfold over for his deceit and his betrayals. That shiver of unease at the reckoning that he would someday face, the eternal torments that Hel would delight in inflicting on Lezard, that knowledge nearly cramped in his stomach, the man quickly turning away from his intended bride to be.

It didn’t stop her from wondering, from Lenneth asking the question of just how Lezard and Odin had come to such an agreement. Unwilling to outright spin a lie to her, but equally as unable to admit the truth to ANYONE, Lezard settled instead for simply ignoring what Lenneth had just asked. 

“The wedding will be in a few days’ time.” That disaffected voice and the inability to look at her, couldn’t protect his heart from his bride, Lezard recognizing that he was so thoroughly mired in a trap that had been of his own choosing. He was overcome with desire, overwhelmed with infatuation. And now that Lezard had had an actual taste of her, the man was sure that he was half way in love. More and more pitfalls appeared before him, Lezard trying to carefully side step them all, but he couldn’t avoid the love looming, the reality of the Valkyrie such that the man was half mad with the wanting of her.

Such a ruinous desire, Lezard having not only destroyed himself, but HER, Lenneth stripped of everything. From her divinity to that life as she had known it, and only now was it truly hitting Lezard just how much he had taken from her. The same feelings that made his heart swell with a kind of desperate love and longing were nothing more than a poison to the Valkyrie. She was suffocating under them, suffocating under him, and there was a part of him that was STILL too selfish, to wish he had done otherwise.

That greedy longing, that seductive whisper inside of his head, that and his unbridled desire, all the tools needed for Odin to have played him. Or rather THEM, Lenneth little more than a means to an end, the pretty bait in which to dangle before the right—wrong man. Lezard had reached for it, reached for HER, and had walked right into Odin’s trap.

The feeling that was birthing to life inside of him wasn’t yet strong enough to be named regret. Maybe it never would be. Lezard was after all greedy, absolutely selfish when it came to his own needs. That Lenneth was proving to be that vital something that Lezard had gone too long without was a fact that he couldn’t, wouldn’t deny. Not even to the doubts and uncertainties that now tried to plague him, Lezard haunted by Lenneth, by the look in her eyes. That grief stricken horror, the steely eyed resignation, and the burgeoning love that the woman had to battle near constant against, Lenneth was both proud and brave in her defiance. In her commitment to her duty, that punishment that she thought was a penance for her failures. 

It was a sick twist of fate, that win or lose, Lenneth would still have been given away. Her fate had long been decided on, her king needing just an excuse to rid himself of her. That Odin had maximized the effect of just how devastating a decree that his order would be, just cemented in Lezard’s mind that the God was as deceitful and manipulative as he had already known Hel to be. 

~Damn him!~ There was real venom to that thought, Lezard glad that Lenneth was situated behind him so as not to be able to see the scowl that had twisted his very expression. He was so mad that Lezard thought that he might spit, the unholy magic inside him bristling with the need to lash out at a certain God. For this is not what they had agreed upon, not at all what Lezard had imagined when he had bartered away everything in exchange for having Lenneth as his intended bride to be. He hadn’t expect the Valkyrie to come to him HAPPY about her fate, but neither had Lezard thought the woman would be so thoroughly poisoned against him. 

Believing him to be nothing more than her punishment, Lenneth’s prejudices had been set against Lezard long before she had learned of just who and what he worshiped. This was nothing like what Odin had promised, the woman completely unprepared for the reality of her situation. Instead the burden of explanations had fallen into Lezard’s hands, the man completely caught off guard, floundering about in an attempt to somehow find a way to make the situation and it’s circumstances palpable to his bride.

He feared that there was nothing, NOTHING, that could be done. No words that could be a strong enough balm for the hurt that Odin had caused. The damage to the foundation of everything that Lezard had hoped to build upon with Lenneth. That seething feeling, that sheer lack of hope, both pushed and pulled at him in a play for dominance over his thoughts. He again damned Odin for his tricks, and if Lezard was at anywhere honest, the man damned himself too. 

His lust his undoing, Lezard knew and understood that his feelings were a weakness. That Lenneth was a weakness. One any and all could exploit, even the Valkyrie herself. Certainly her king had, Lezard wondering now at just how much more deeply he had been played. Had Odin been counting on Lezard to fall? Is THAT why he had allowed the sorcerer so close, Lezard able to get an eye full of a whole squadron of Valkyries? Dozens upon dozens of the lethal beauties, the fierce battle maidens dressed in full armored regalia, with swords, spears and even a cross bow at the ready.

Divine in nature, deadly in grace, the Valkyries hadn’t fought a war so much as made sport of the undead around them. With blood spraying and limbs flying, with heads severed and bodies squelching under foot, that group of Goddesses were a quick and efficient lot. With wave upon wave of undead approaching, with ghouls, zombies, vampires and even a revenant or two, with creatures of all manner, and nightmares that crept from the deepest part of the dark, this legion of monsters had barreled head on to their doom.

It had been awe inspiring, and truth be known it had been a little frightening. Lezard had looked at the Valkyries, and had seen the sheer and utter futility of Hel’s plans. Of the war that the underworld’s Queen had hoped to wage. Lezard had not only seen defeat for Hel and her minions, he had anticipated a great many deaths. He might have even seen that of his own, Lezard having looked up at the group of Goddesses at their most ferocious, and coming away shaken by one fact. That no mortal human, be he man or she woman, be they armed with magic or armed with sharp steel, would ever be able to make a true difference. Not even Hel’s blessing could change that fact, the underworld’s Goddess simply too weak to empower the humans needed to overrun the heavens.

Rooted in place, it was on the Plains of Idavoll, that Lezard Valeth had the first of his many epiphanies. He didn’t want to die, and he didn’t want to be damned. Both were unenviable fates, the cycle of life and death such that a human had to both live and eventually die. It was the second that was more negotiable, factors at play here that decided who went where and by how. There was a complex balance between the heavens and the underworld, Nifleheim a place for all of Odin’s undesirables. Such as the warriors who did NOT die in battle. Or the humans who died of old age or of sickness. It hardly seemed fair that so many were damned on so daily a basis, and yet it was fact that the underworld was overcrowded with the condemned. The damned and those too beneath the heavens’ consideration.

Lezard had known he was both, had known the blessing of his Goddess had tainted just about all chance at heaven’s paradise. And yet he had dared to dream otherwise, had dared to hope. It was on the Plains of Idavoll that an idea began to take root. A mad bit of scheming that had Lezard grasping at the opportunity that his Goddess herself had inadvertently sanctioned. With the very subterfuge that she had bid him to play out, Lezard had decided to use what he knew of Hel’s desire, and of her plans, to instead betray her.

Privy to more secrets than any other human in Hel’s kingdom, Lezard felt certain that HE was the key towards bringing an end to Nifleheim’s insane ambition. He was the most trusted of her subjects, the most gifted and beloved, Lezard’s magic talented beyond measure. It was that magic that came into play on the Plains of Idavoll, the sorcerer using all manner of spells to aid and assist the Valkyries in their fight. Those warrior maidens hadn’t needed his help in theory, but the spells that Lezard had slung about did help to wittle down a large number of the undead king’s near endless troops.

It was then that he had seen her, it was there amid the dwindling number of able bodied undead that Lezard had spied a glimpse of the Valkyrie Lenneth. That fleeting glimpse from across a vast distance, shouldn’t have had such a profound effect on him. Lenneth should have been just another woman, just another Goddess, a figure whose deadly dance across the crowded plains should have struck a fear and desperation into all who had beheld her lethal form. 

Lezard hadn’t felt fear, though a desperation had been upon him. A rapturous desire, Lezard driven by need, the man wanting to see the face of that Valkyrie. He hadn’t been able to get a good enough look, the Goddess moving too fast, twirling away from one danger to another, her sword effortlessly slicing through air as she had thrust and stabbed it into the bodies of nightmares. Her cobalt blue armor had made a striking offset against the braided platinum of her long hair, and long, lithe legs flashed tantalizing glimpses of her thighs whenever the woman kicked high enough for her skirt’s slit to fall back and expose her.

Lezard had found that he had not only stopped breathing, but that his eyes hadn’t been able to look away. He had been riveted in place, had been in the absolute thrall of the Goddess, his heart an echoing drum beat that had left him deafened to the roar of the war around him. He hadn’t been able to see, to hear, to FEEL, all of Lezard’s acute awareness spiraling down to that vision in cobalt blue. To the hint of striking ice that was her eyes, to that wild play of that braided hair of platinum, each facet of her that had been revealed to him had then carved a brand into his very soul.

Such a ruthless embodiment of sensuality, such a sublime promise of the unearthly, pain and pleasured combined to deliver a woman that was the perfect instrument with which to deal in both. He had been in awe of her, Lezard so thoroughly overcome, the thoughts slipping from his head as easily as the breath had from his lungs. He hadn’t been able to see, to think of anything else, Lezard attempting to creep closer to the woman, the Goddess who had so thoroughly took a hold of him. That not one, but two armies stood between the man and the Valkyrie hadn’t seemed to much matter, Lezard bristling with his determination and the unbridled strength of the very magic inside him.

Such unholy magic had been a danger, and not just to the combatants that might stand between Lezard and HIS Goddess. In that moment, Lezard had been a danger to himself, all his efforts to suppress the true level of strength inside of him forgotten, all that amassed power surging stronger. Hel’s power had never burned hotter, Lezard lit up like a beacon and betrayed by his own magic. Marked by it, marked by her, his ties to Nifleheim should have guaranteed his end. 

Even as Lezard had realized too late what he had just done, the man had struggled to suppress the worst of it. Unholy energy had continued to gather in his glove hands, his skin having crackled with the heated sensation of a spell, his magic wanting, needing an outlet. The struggle to deny it that had left Lezard sweating, thick beads of perspiration dripping down the sides of his face. His fingers had actually curled under the onslaught of magic, the energy calling, wanting to damn him and those around him to it’s death and devastation.

It was the platinum haired Valkyrie, the sight of her, and the thought of her broken body, that had kept the worst of his magic at bay, For her, Lezard had fought the use of his own magic, the man having struggled with the effort that it took for any semblance of control. The gathered magic hadn’t wanted to be denied, that malevolent energy not wanting to stay hidden. It, that thing inside him, had wanted to be known, had wanted to revel in the shock, awe, and horror of all those around him. 

Lezard had fought it, fought the magic and the death it would bring. His efforts alone shouldn’t have been enough, Nifleheim’s magic such that all of Asgard should have been up in arms over it. Over the threat of it, the danger, the taint of the underworld creeping in with him. The sin of it alone was a death sentence, Hel and her followers not welcome in Asgard. They had NEVER been. And they might never be, Lezard left alive by the grace of one God. By Lord Odin himself, the God not so much in a merciful mood as he had been curious.

Lezard had always known right from the start that the mission had been dangerous. That there had been little if any chance of success. That too many had already tried. Too many who had tried and then failed, finding their lives were the ultimate in prices paid. Hel hadn’t cared, the underworld’s Goddess too obsessed with, too determined to get a foothold into the heavens. Mage after mage was commanded, many promising talents lost to one mad deity’s lofty ambitions. 

Every last one of them considered expandable, Hel had sacrificed close to one thousand mages in her attempt to gain an audience with the heavens’ king. Spread out over countless centuries, and Odin had never ONCE deign to speak to any of the queen’s ambassadors. Lezard shouldn’t have been any different. The power inside of him shouldn’t have been anything worth noting. And yet there was a reason that the man was the queen’s favorite, a reason why the magic inside him was so special. Twisted by Hel’s touch as it was, there had still been no masking it’s own unique flavor. 

Odin hadn’t been able to resist it, hadn’t been able to contain his own curiosity. Here was a power, in a human no less, that was unlike anything in all of Creation. That odd mix of the divine and the damned, Hel’s brand upon him not able to strip away entirely the superiority that was in the mage’s blood. Odin had looked at Lezard and had seen the puzzle fit, a decades long mystery and it’s secrets unraveling. 

His existence the key, the tangible proof of an unforgivable crime, Lezard had by all rights been Odin’s to strike down. The God shouldn’t have hesitated, shouldn’t have allowed any doubts to have plagued him. And yet it had, Odin having wondered a great many things. The why of it, and the many possible what ifs, Lezard the Goddess Hel’s trump hand revealed, the mage possibly just the first of a legion of such elite.

Even if he wasn’t, even if the mage was a wholly unique anomaly, then why would Hel have risked him? Why play this tact so early? To scare Odin, or to seduce him? The King of the Heavens hadn’t been able to tell, and perhaps it was that uncertainty that had troubled the Lord all the more.

Unable to make a decision, unable to outright try to right Hel’s wrong, Odin had instead settled on a subterfuge of his own. Having made himself comfortable on a smooth sided boulder, the God’s eyes had never diverted from the mage. Odin had born silent witness to the man’s struggles, to Lezard’s exhausting efforts to tamp down the magic that had been betraying him. He hadn’t seemed to have noticed how neither the Valkyries nor that of the undead had realized and been alerted to him. He had been completely oblivious, Lezard not aware of anything save his own difficulties and desires.

He certainly hadn’t felt the shielding spell that had been placed around him. The magic that muffled and contained the underworld’s taint. That same power that had clouded over his senses, Lezard aware of little, until after the God had sighed. Odin’s breath had expelled on a great gust of wind, that breezy current having held a hint of winter’s frost to it that had made the mage shiver in reaction.

It had been more than the cold that had caused that reaction. There had been a surge of power behind him, a great spike of power that had surpassed that of Hel’s. It hadn’t been there just a second ago, Lezard having now become aware that a new player had entered into the field. A God by the feel of it, one of such immense age and power that there was few if any to truly be of rival. 

Having expected to be then be struck down by this God, Lezard had still tried to speak. His tongue had faltered inside his mouth, Lezard’s mind so alarmingly empty. He hadn’t been able to find the words, hadn’t even been able to think of them, Lezard having tried and failed to plead for his life.

The killing blow had never actually come. Instead of fists or a sword, or a blast of divine ether, the God behind him had merely sighed again. There had been admiration in that sound, the God’s low, husky voice then speaking.

“They are beautiful, are they not?”

Of all the things that the God could have asked, that offhand comment spoken in so casual a tone, had been the last thing that Lezad had been expecting. He had nodded a slow yes without even thinking, too astonished to do much of anything save stare straight ahead. At the arresting sight, the dozen upon dozens of examples of Odin’s beauty at work.

“Beautiful and deadly.” His tone had been strangled, Lezard having wondered if the Valkyries would be the last sight of his. He hadn’t wanted to die, and yet Lezard had instantly sought out the figure in the cobalt blue armor. Let THAT Goddess be his last memory, that ethereal vision the only thing worthy of taking with him to his eternal damnation.

To his shock, a soft rumble of the God’s laughter had come from behind him. It hadn’t been a cruel sound, the God more pleased than anything that Lezard could have expected. It almost reminded Lezard of a proud father, the God speaking in a tone that was far more fond than anything Lezard could have imagined.

“It is an intriguing mix, is it not?” The God had wanted to know. Lezard had been unable to deny it, the mage no more immune to the charms of the Valkyrie women than most any other man. 

“The soft beauty of a woman...” The God had continued after a moment’s beat. “Tempered with the violent aggression of a man.” Lezard had nearly winced then, watching as an especially vicious thrust forward had impaled a spear straight through some ghoulish nightmare’s body.

“Ah...” The God had breathed out with an approving sound. “But unlike those mortal creatures, my Valkyrie are perfect. They hold neither the vanity of a woman, nor the weakness of a man.”

It had been deliberate, that provocative statement meant to incite. Lezard had known that as fact, and still he had bristled, his masculine ego having been insulted. “And just what weakness is that?”

The God’s answer had been immediate, the words as provocative they had been hard fact. “Greed, lust, cruelty. Those many, many dark little impulses your kind has to do harm to others. I could go on for an eternity, and still not cover them all." 

It had been said in such a mocking manner, the God’s derision apparent in his every spoken word. This was a man, a God, who had little like nor love for those he viewed as a lesser species, who had actually looked down on the human race as a whole. It was everything that Lezard had been warned against, the teaching of the underworld and it’s Goddess along with the decree of the Heavens themselves, all the truth needed to support the claim that Odin and his kind didn’t much care about anything, anyone not born of the Heavens. It had still been a struggle, both to accept that rudely taunting condensation quietly, and to not offer a scathing retort of his own. Lezard had fought for his control, had actually let out a deep, exaggerated breath, the mage watching the battle before him. His eyes kept on being riveted by the Valkyrie in the cobalt blue armor, an idle thought upon him, Lezard having wondered if SHE was like all the other divine. His infatuated heart though hadn’t wanted to believe it, his soul alight and alive with the desire that she had helped rouse.

Unable and unwilling to believe the worst of her, Lezard had let the sight of the platinum haired Valkyrie work off the edge of the red hot anger that had been boiling to a bursting point inside of him. Once the worst of the anger had been brought under his control, once Lezard had no longer fought against the scathing words that had remained locked inside him still, the man had had a realization. One that had so shocked and surprised him, that Lezard had forgotten to be wary. With a strangled shout, and with a sudden spin, Lezard had turned, getting his first look at the God seated behind him.

“YOUR Valkyries?!” He had then exclaimed, his jaw agape with his shock. With the realization that this wasn’t just ANY God before him, but that of the King of them. Odin of Asgard, the Ruler of the Heavens, and the very man that Hel had wanted Lezard to speak with. Under the guise of negotiations between the two realms, Lezard would have been expected to manipulate and lull Odin into a betraying a weakness. Some flaw that Hel herself would have been able to build upon. 

Truth be known, Lezard hadn’t expected to see the God, let alone get THIS close to him. And yet here Odin was, seated comfortably on the rock as though it was the finest of thrones, completely and utterly relaxed as he had looked past the mage to gaze out with a fond expression at the battling group of Goddesses. There had been a slight softening to his features, the faintest of a smile there that had been one bursting with pride.

“Each and EVERY one.” The God had then acknowledged, his coal gray eyes focused on the battle before him. There hadn’t even been a tension to him, the man not frightened of Lezard or that of the threat of the undead. They had all been but insects to a God as powerful as Odin, annoying but otherwise harmless.

Speaking with that tone of pride and possession, Odin had inclined his head slightly to Lezard. The mage had then took the visual clue, starting to turn to see just what had caught Odin’s eyes this time. The fighting had drawn closer, the Valkyries absolutely brutal in the way that they had continued to make sport of their foes. “For as long as they can fight, they are each mine. To do with as I see fit.”

It had always been that way. The hard truth of it a fact that was a cornerstone of the foundation of the universe under Odin’s rule. Everyone in all of the nine realms knew of Odin and his Valkyries, knew of their purpose, and of their unflinching duty. Both guardians of his cosmos, and executioners of the God’s law, Odin’s Valkyries had had their lives, their very existences, mapped out by him.

The divine fire in their blood, these Goddesses had been forged by armor and steel. There had been a driving need inside each of them, a regimented focus for order and law, the violence inside them a cold, practical thing that thrived not on cruelty, but on justice. It was the Valkyrie that saw to the safe guarding of all the realms, who both protected and rewarded Odin’s followers for their faith.

These same Goddesses who pulled off such miracles, weren’t just the turning tide in the war against the undead. They were also an incentive. Everyone, EVERY man, woman, and child knew of the fate of the fallen Valkyries. Human, elf, divine or otherwise, and even that of the undead, all knew what was promised. What had tempted many a human and an elf into an alliance with the Gods. It wasn’t just that the women were beautiful, that marriage to one elevated your status in the eyes of all. It was the blessings that came with having a former Goddess as your bride, the beauty, the brains, and the strength of the Valkyrie passing on to their children. The best and the brightest in all the realms, many of Creations’ strongest heroes, and most brilliant and crafty of strategists, had been birthed from a Valkyrie bride. All of whom had raised up arms in the name of the God Odin, the warriors his to command in life and in death.

The heavens full of these soldiers, there had been few if any to rival Odin’s amassed strength. Most knew enough to not even try, and of those many factions of Creation, only that of the combined forces of the many kinds of undead, and that of the underworld’s followers, even dared to separately attempt to make trouble. Both failed to make any lasting and long differences, neither Brahms’ undead, or that of Hel’s followers strong enough on their own.

It was the Valkyrie blood that was making all the difference. It was the Valkyrie’s children who had kept the realms from being overrun. From being destroyed completely by that of the undead, and from Hel’s own insane ambitions. They truly were the ideal in women, so breath taking lovely and strong, that they were in high demand everywhere, even in a land like Flenceburg. A kingdom dominated by the underworld, and a people completely free of Odin’s reign, and there too were the warrior Goddesses so coveted, so lusted after by the men. 

It was a lust that had always meant to go unfulfilled, the people there shunned. Looked down upon, even hated for their alliance, Hel’s followers had been damned in more ways than one. A greedy, grasping nation of people, Flenceburg and the other lands that had fallen under Hel’s rule, had let their lust for power and wealth drive them. A nation built on the backs of betrayals and manipulation, of cruelty and fear, Lezard had been able to admit, at least to himself, that Odin hadn’t been so far off after all. Not about mortal men and the weaknesses that the God had derided as being inside them.

Even Lezard himself wasn’t above or below such weakness. His hands were too stained with many a misdeed, the mage having been well aware that his own life record wasn’t much of anything to be proud of. The man had done what he had needed, to survive, and to thrive, no other real choice afforded to him. There had never been, Lezard damned, doomed to a life under Hel’s thumb from the first moment the promise of his magic had made itself known.

The unfairness of it all had begun to bother the man more and more, Lezard increasingly aware of his own mortality. Of the odds stacked against him, the enemies more so than age set to bring him down, and sooner rather than later. It had always been the way of things, Lezard at the very top of the food chain when it came to Hel’s people. And once at the top, there was little else distance to travel but DOWN. There simply was too many people, too many eager to take Lezard’s place. Too many willing to sacrifice and push him over, and Lezard was aware that the swift and brutal fall would not end with his death.

Damnation awaited them all. Damnation awaited HIM, Hel hardly the forgiving kind of Goddess to show ANY of her followers mercy. She used and abused them as she saw fit, had done so for a millennia of time. Grown and groomed under her care, the Underworld’s followers hadn’t had a chance, hadn’t known much of any other way but that of Hel’s. Doomed and damned by the life they had all been born into, by the nation that had branded it’s corruption into their very soul, Flenceburg and the like weren’t going to find any salvation at the hands of any other God. Not even that of the King, Odin of Asgard an uncaring, intolerant despot who had no use for any one but those that could fight and win him his battles.

He had ALWAYS been that way, Odin tossing aside his undesirables, the sick and the elderly, any and all who did not fight and die in glorious battle in HIS name. The underworld was jam packed with the souls of the undeserving, men, women, and children all made to suffer for Hel’s amusement and rage. 

He had bore witness firsthand to the tortures that Hel had delighted in inflicting on those innocently undeserving, on them and on sinners alike, Nifleheim’s Goddess just as quick to torment the damned as she was the doomed. It made her both feared and hated, even as the damned all tried to curry favor with the Goddess, each one hoping, praying that their end fate would turn out differently. 

No one had ever found a way around escaping Hel’s punishment. No one had ever even come close to it, but Lezard had still been determined to try. Odin had seemed to be the key, to be the one and only chance of a salvation, Lezard had been prepared to risk it all, to pull off the ultimate in betrayals for the God’s promise of something better. He had just never dreamed that there would be something that the mage would want more than that of the heaven’s paradise.

Unprepared for the rush of desire that would hit him, that near undeniable want, Lezard had turned back towards the God. Odin of Asgard was now LOOKING at him, the divine being holding an expectant air to him. Lezard had paused a moment, before offering up a greeting, his tone completely respectful but lacking the reverent awe that so many of Midgard would have been prone to voicing. He had simply been that unimpressed, Odin not the first or the last of the divine that Lezard would ever have dealings with.

“Lord Odin.” Somehow Lezard had managed to keep the disdain out of his voice, the disgust that this God inspired. A bleeding heart Lezard might not be, but the mage still hadn’t been able to understand how any one being could be so cold and uncaring, so callous and cruel and NOT be insane. 

It had been thoughts like that, and the disgust, that had nearly kept Lezard from protocol. It had been the annoyed look in the God’s eyes, and Lezard own increasing instincts for self preservation that had the man sketch a quick bow. The mage hadn’t been about to go down on his knees, not for a God he didn’t follow, and certainly not for one that Lezard so despised. 

It had been enough, Odin at last giving his own bit of acknowledgment. His eyes had narrowed, the God having continued his looking, not so much studying Lezard and his outward appearence as that of his soul.

“You are not one of my Valkyrie’s einherjar.” He had stated. His nostrils had visibly flared, Odin sniffing with disdain. “The scent of the death you cause may cling to you, but it is a far different trait that gives you away.” A further narrowing of the God’s eyes, Odin giving him the once over. “Necromancer. I have been expecting you.”

That Odin had known him for what he was, hadn’t much surprised Lezard. There had always been a magic inside him, an unholy potential that had singled the man out to more than just Hel. That dark power inside him, the damning energy and the foul deeds that had result from it and Hel demands, had all thoroughly left a mark on the mage. What HAD been surprising? That the God Odin had acted as though he had been awaiting his arrival. Lezard hadn’t been able to fathom the how and the why of it, any more than he had been able to ascertain if the God had been prepared to receive him as a visitor rather than a threat. Lezard had still hoped against the latter, the man not wanting his life to be ended before he could so much as draw the breath needed in which to make his plea.

“It’s very...” He had hesitated then, the uncertainty of what Lezard had faced, leaving the man to take extra care with the choosing of his words. “It’s very KIND of you to come greet me, yourself...”

“I was curious.” That admittance had had Lezard lifting an eyebrow, the mage staring at the God.

“OH?”

“I thought to myself, what reason could Hel possibly have THIS time to have sent yet ANOTHER one of her minions here to my domain. Is she really that reckless, or is it that Hel simply has more souls than even SHE knows what to do with?” Odin had chuckled then. “Hel certainly cannot still be fool enough to think I would ever be lured into an alliance with her….” His head had cocked to the side then, Odin having again made Lezard the focus of an intent, scrutinizing stare. 

It was unnerving, Lezard having blinked slowly in an attempt to recover. The God had simply set him off balance, Lezard feeling a little too slow and dull witted to make any real progress. “Queen Hel is prepared to...to make it a very lucrative alliance….” He had trailed off at Odin’s laughter, that gruff bark of disdainful amusement that had chased away all the light from the God’s eyes. It had made Lezard’s blood run cold to see, the mage having been certain that he was about to be struck down.

“You don’t honestly expect me to believe that, do you?” Odin had demanded. A kind of scoffing snort had followed those words, Odin absolutely disgusted, maybe even downright disappointed with Lezard. “What could she possibly offer that I don’t already have?” Those words, that question, had been accompanied by a grand gesture, his arm encompassing the combatants around them, the Valkyrie and the einherjar who had since joined them in the fight against the undead. 

“As you can see…” Odin had continued with a gloating smile. “I have all the soldiers that I need, the best and the brightest in all the realms, picked fresh from the many who have died. How can she hope to compete, what does Hel think that she has, save for the leftover remnants? The weak and the damned, those not fit for my paradise?”

Such words had had power to them, for both their cruel undertones and the absolute truth of them. Certainly the words had had a power over him, Lezard reacting. He had tried and had failed to keep the God from riling him up, Lezard’s face heating up with his anger, with his very resentments. It had all come pouring out as a challenge, Lezard almost mocking the God with questions of his own. 

“And what of the living?” Lezard had asked. “The many of Midgard, the many who follow Hel….The many that could be utilized in your war with the undead?”

“What of them?” Odin had questioned in a flat tone of voice. 

Lezard had been too caught up in the moment, a hint of his pride revealed in the boasting tones that he had then used. “You have seen my power, have you not? Gotten the briefest taste of just what I am capable of. Imagine an army of such powerful mages at your command….”

“If Hel had such an army, if she was even capable of empowering so many, your Queen would have overrun the Heavens by now.” Odin’s tone had been ever so dismissive. “No, such power is a rarity, and that which you boast about is so tainted by Hel’s hands, so thoroughly corrupt, that it makes you little better than Brahms’ ilk. The both of you lot need to be put down as the menace that you are.”

Lezard hadn’t been able to stop himself, or the anger. “We could never be considered similar to that of the undead!” He had snapped out in protest. “They see us only as a food source and as a way to bolster the size of their armies. What they don’t destroy, they make use of...”

“You know this, and yet it is YOUR kind that STILL falls the fastest when it comes to the undead and their seductions.” Odin had made a chiding sound then, the God having shaken his head as though in disbelief. “Is Hel’s domain so horrible that so many of you would prefer the life of an undead to the eternal rest of Nifleheim?”

“Rest?” Lezad hadn’t been able to stop himself in time, the mage scoffing. “Is that what you equate her tortures to?” He had shook his head then, biting at his tongue. “No, Lord Odin. I can say neither Hel’s torture, nor that of an eternity spent as one of the undead, neither one makes for an attractive option.” His tone had turned bitter then, Lezard unable to keep the anger and the disgust, the disdain, from seeping into his voice. “But then the paradise fields of Asgard have long been denied us. Denied to all but that of the elite who have fought and died in YOUR name.”

Such bold face impertinence, fact though it may have been, should have seen Lezard struck down dead. Instead the God had seemed to enliven to the topic, actually having tried to debate the merits of HIS way with Lezard.

“You think it wrong of me to deny some paradise?” Odin had asked, pausing long enough to receive Lezard’s stiff nod of agreement. “Ah, but what is the promise of paradise if it was freely give to any and all?” Odin had wondered out loud. “One must work to achieve it, and my demands are not so harsh...”

“You would think that, wouldn’t you?” He hadn’t been able to keep from sounding rude. “Not everyone can fight. Not everyone is..”

“Anyone can fight.” Odin had interrupted him. “It just takes skill and practice to be able to fight well.”

“Are you saying then, that you would have everyone fight then? The untrained and those without any skill? The sick and the elderly, the children and their mothers all going to the slaughter, just for the chance to get into your paradise?” The shock that he had felt, had nearly left Lezard shaking. On some level he had known and accepted that the God was an arrogant being, but to be faced with the disdain and the lack of empathy that Odin so clearly had, had almost been more than Lezard could stomach. 

His upset and anger would only grow worst in the face of Odin’s calm retort. “That is a choice left entirely to the mortals.” 

His blood had boiled over with his anger, with the frustration and the despair that this cruel deity had helped inspire. With that seething rage inside him, Lezard had never felt more a danger, that reckless anger uncaring, wanting to lash out against the insult that was the God Odin. It would have bee suicide to even try, the strength of Lezard’s magic still not strong enough to take out a God. 

That vast difference between them, both in age and in power, and the rapidly fading chance of the salvation that Lezard had still stubbornly hoped for, those were what had stayed him. His magic and his tongue, Lezard breathing out an exasperated breath as he had struggled to get himself under control. A flash of braided platinum, the Valkyrie that he had so admired having stepped into just the edge of his vision, had Lezard then turning. 

The sight of her had calmed the worst of his fury, Lezard able to then breathe better, to think clearer. But not even the Valkyrie could chase away his disgust, the repulsed feelings that Odin himself had continued to inspire.

The God hadn’t seemed to have noticed, hadn’t realized, or just hadn’t cared. Lezard was inclined to believe it had been the latter, Odin clearly an existence that didn’t much care what others had thought. About him, or about much of anything, the God considering himself superior. Such arrogance the likes of which Lezard had never known, Odin was in sore need of a smack down.

Such a reckoning would not be made by mortal hands. At least not in so physical and permanent a way. But there were OTHER ways to strike a blow to Odin’s ego, to take from him the things he most valued. It was a knowledge that Lezard had, a secret that could and would steal from Odin the very things needed to empower Hel to realize her ambitions. It brought a very real dilemma to Lezard’s heart, the struggle of right versus wrong, the desire of what he had wanted and what he had hoped, leaving the mage conflicted. 

His salvation possibly in reach, and Lezard had still hesitated. Odin hadn’t known enough to keep quiet, the very sound of the God’s voice a grating annoyance.

“How desperate must your queen be.”

There had been no reaction from him, Lezard instead choosing to stare straight ahead. To keep focused on the lovely warrior, the vision in cobalt blue that had so effortlessly caught hold of his interest. Her braided hair was in constant motion, Lezard unable to catch a lasting impression of the entirety of the Valkyrie’s face. 

“Hel has to realize that she is wasting time, both hers and MINE.” Odin had continued. “I will never trust her enough to make that alliance.”

“Do you fear her then?” Lezard had dared to ask. Odin had rewarded the absurdity of that question with his smug laughter.

“Not in the slightest.” Odin had turned to boasting once more. “She is no match for me.”

By the strength that he had sensed was contained inside the God, Lezard had known that much to be true. “Alone yes, but perhaps...”

“She thinks to get help?” Odin had guessed then at Lezard’s silence. “From who...none would dare...”

“The undead might.” Lezard hadn’t been able to keep from needling the God.

“Brahms” Odin had hissed. “Is HE Hel’s game?” Lezard had merely shrugged his shoulders in response, thinking it interesting how bothered the idea of an alliance between Hel and the undead Lord had made the God act. Lezard had even gone so far as to privately wonder if there might be some weakness that was there to exploit. 

“So she thinks to force my hand, does she?” Odin had been all but muttering that, the divine energy that had leaked off the god, a power that had spiked with his agitation. Again Lezard had only shrugged in answer to Odin’s voice, the mage patiently focused on the Valkyrie, on the wish to see her face for longer than a few seconds.

His silence had only added to the God’s unease, Odin having continued his musings out loud. “She really is desperate….”

“Aren’t we all.” Lezard had murmured.

“Or maybe she has grown tired of waiting.” Odin had accused. 

“Centuries of failed negotiation attempts would do that to anyone.” Lezard’s tone had been pointed then, none too subtly reminding the God of just how hard the Goddess had tried at forming an alliance between the underworld and the heavens. The alliance itself had been nothing more than a sham, an excuse to set up Odin for the betrayal that Hel was itching for. 

There had a long pause, Odin having digested the words. “Is your Queen REALLY intent on an alliance?” Odin had finally asked, his thoughtful tone laced with suspicion. “Or it it something more? Does Hel seek something beyond that?”

It had been too close to the truth. Lezard had been glad for the distraction of the Valkyrie, watching the figure of her battling form dance across the battlefield. The sight of her brought such an immense pleasure to him, a lifting joy to his heart that had helped to center and calm his inner being. 

Odin had sounded frustrated then, the God bothered by Lezard’s lack of reaction. It didn’t stop the deity from trying, from attempting to pry the truth of Hel’s ambitions from him. “She couldn’t be thinking of stirring trouble.” He had said. “She’s not THAT stupid.”

“Oh, and what trouble would that be?” Lezard hadn’t been entirely able to resist baiting Odin.

“You tell me.” Odin had answered in a level tone.

Lezard had almost smirked then, ready to bait his hook, when it had happened. A pivot of her heel, the platinum haired Valkyrie having turned for some reason. There had been a loud, sickening squelch of sound, the Goddess sword having then thrust forward, the blood and gore covered tip protruding out of the back of a monster. Already in awe of her as a woman, and as a warrior, it was her sheer brute strength that had reminded Lezard that this was no ordinary female. With that strength and her ability, the Goddess having taken on a monster nearly triple her size. 

The monster had howled out it’s pain, a wail of such immense agony that any and all who had heard it, had known it for the creature’s death knell. Clawed limbs had dropped down to dangle limply at it’s sides, the monster’s immense weight only doubling, staying upright only due to Goddess and her sword. When it would finally hit against the ground, the sharp thud of sound had made the very Heavens themselves shake, Lezard barely able to keep upright. 

The ground had been unstable, HE had been unstable, Lezard inhaling a sharp breath at the sight of the Goddess’ face bathed in the moonlight. With the pale glow of the moon upon her, with her skin so white and so smooth, with the gleam of the few platinum strands that had slipped free of her braid, Lezard saw the Valkyrie’s face fully for the first time.

That stark loveliness, that ethereal beauty, it had been a sight that had left him staggered for breath, his very heart having felt as thought it had leaped to his throat to choke him. That sweetheart face, those soft pouting lips, lent an air of divine sensuality to her, the Goddess a vision that would have fit just as perfect in his bed as she so clearly did on the battlefield. 

Without even having realized it, Lezard had then made a sound. Some strangled noise of his blatant admiration. For it had been that precise moment, that the awestruck mage had known that this was a woman, a goddess worth obtaining. For it had been just the chance of worshiping at her feet, that Lezard had realized that he would pay any price.

“Ah...” Odin had noted just where Lezard’s attention had gone. “Her name is Lenneth.” He had then said. “A most favored daughter, her accomplishments as a Valkyrie number in the thousands.”

“Lenneth.” Lezard had breathed out her name with all of the awe and reverence that should have been the God’s due. Instead the mage had been dismissive, completely ignoring Odin in favor of the warrior Goddess.

Odin hadn’t seemed to have minded, the God going so far as to seize upon the opportunity that this distraction had afforded him. Lezard had been vaguely aware of the questions, the none too subtle prying that the divine Lord had attempted. Lezard hadn’t been able to answer, hadn’t wanted to, simply too focused on the Valkyrie. Too lost to the feelings that she had aroused inside him, those unfamiliar longing leaving him struggling. The infatuation and that wholehearted desire, Lezard having been lost, helpless to do anything but stare enrapt.

It had all been so new to him. The feelings that had birthed to life inside of him had been so wholly different from anything that Lezard had ever felt, any experience that the man had ever had. No woman could compare, no female had ever even tried, his heart almost hurting with the need that had come alive inside of him. 

Driven by the need to possess the Goddess for his own, there had been no other choice. No other hope, Lezard having put aside his doubts and his disgust. If I am to tell you anything of any lasting importance, we will need a suitable and secure place.” Lezard had laid out the first of his cards to Odin, his eyes still on the Valkyrie. On Lenneth, her armored figure the motivating force behind his every word now.

“Can one of Hel’s agents even be capable of the truth that I require?”

“When the...reward is valued enough, THIS one can.” He had heard Odin’s chuckle then, had felt the spike in power a moment before the ether had hit him. For one second Lezard had thought that he had been betrayed, that Odin had chosen instead to strike him down. It had made him panic, a protest in his throat that came out a startled squeak as Lezard found himself dropped to his hands and knees 

Instead of the rough and uneven grass and ground of the plains of Idavoll, Lezard had felt the smooth pearl like texture of a floor. He had opened his eyes, had seen the pristine white underneath him, the floor stretching out for miles before him. It ended at the foot of a dais, a deep royal purple coloring the velvet carpets that draped over the stairs. His eyes had traveled upwards, Lezard taking in a vague impression of marble columns, and walls that were gilded with silver and gold. There had even been a twinkle of the light, the gleaming facets of jewels arranged into decorative patterns on the ceiling. They had looked like a multi color of stars, spread out against a midnight blue backdrop.

It was an impressive sight, one that not only rivaled Eljudnir, but outshone it. Light and airy to Eljudnir’s dark, Queen Hel’s castle was a cold and stark place. For all of it’s wealth, and its carefully crafted beauty, Eljudnir had never felt like a home so much as a prison. With its sinister shadows, and the danger everywhere, death had lurked in it’s every corner. 

Castle Valhalla was it’s complete opposite in every way. It didn’t matter that they were at the heart of a battlefield, that the castle and it’s surrounding lands were constantly besieged by that of the armies of the undead. There was a warmth here, a prevailing sense of comfort and ease that was suffused into the very foundation of the building. It gave off the illusion that one was safe, that one was protected, by the castle and by the very beings who lived on inside it.

At the top of the dais, on a throne that also looked to be made out of silver and gold, had sat the God, Odin. His pose had been one that had belied his impatience, the God drumming agitated fingers against the gold gilded arm rest. 

In the moment, Odin had very much reminded Lezard of Queen Hel, the Goddess often having done similar from atop her ebony throne. “Well, mortal? Speak!” 

“Do you honestly think me so foolish?” Lezard had questioned with a mocking lift of his brow. “I am not so stupid as to betray one God without securing the promise and protection of another.”

Odin had been outraged. “You DARE presume you have ANY right to my promises?!”

“It is that daring that will keep me alive.” Lezard had countered. His expression had been tight, the mage unable to so much as smile, the moment, the promise, too serious for anything else. “You must give me your word that no harm will befall me. Not from your hand, and not from that of your people.”

It would take Odin time to answer, the God slowly considering the mage’s request. Several long minutes would pass before the God would then nod. “So be it.” He had said but not without grumbling. “I swear on my father’s name and all that I hold holy, that no harm shall be done to you by me, or by my people.” He had flashed a disarming smile then, Odin’s words holding a none too subtle threat. “I cannot swear the same of your Queen.”

Lezard had had to stifle a shudder. “She can never know that I am telling you this. No one can.” He had braced himself then to be unflinching, Lezard exhaling a deep breath as he had admitted the following truth. “Queen Hel is not in the market to ally with you. She has NEVER held that as her true desire.”

“That is not much of a surprise.” Odin had admitted.”But then why waste the time and the resources on such a ploy? How many of her minions have I already slain for her ruse?”

“Thousands.” Lezard had readily answered. 

“So many lives wasted...Whatever is the point?”

“On the off chance you’d fall for it.” Lezard had stated. “Hel has want of so much, has the ambition and the desire to take what she can---ALL that she can.”

“If it’s a war that she wants…”

“Hel knows she couldn’t win with a direct assault. Not as things now stand, not even with your resources spent fighting against the undead. Crazy that she may be, my Queen is not stupid.” Lezard had told him. “Instead she seeks the advantage that your distraction with Brahms’ undead will give her.”

“Midgard?” Odin had guessed with a growl. “She thinks to take over my holdings in that realm.”

“It’s more than just Midgard that Hel is after.” The outward calm that he had projected, had been at odds with the racing beat of his heart. “She wants your everything, and Hel is not afraid to use any and all means to get it.”

“What can she do?” Odin had scoffed.

“What can’t she do?” The mage had countered. “She’s a Goddess in her own right..”

“She is INSANE!”

“She is also determined.” Lezard had pointed out. “If given the enough time, the right resources, and the information needed, even Hel would become a formidable opponent.” 

“I’ll deny her all that and more!” Odin had snapped out a roar, pounding a fist against his throne’s arm rest. 

“Do you really think you can stop her? When she has already had centuries to prepare?” Lezard had asked. 

“Tell me everything.” Odin had then ordered. 

It was almost TOO easy, Lezard had thought, to gain the God’s undivided attention if not his trust. It would have only taken a few more subtle twists, and Lezard was certain he could have carried out Hel’s plan. The sham of an alliance he could have forged, Lezard than prying secrets, the weaknesses from Odin and his followers. With just a few words, Lezard could have realized Nifleheim’s ambitions, conquering the realms with the very knowledge gleaned from Creation’s own ruler.

“Not so fast.” Lezard had said out loud. “I have a few...demands of my own.”

“Oh?” Odin’s eyes had narrowed further with his suspicion. “And what else would you beg a favor of?”

“Two things.” Lezard had been calm, his fingers having adjusted the glasses that sat over the bridge of his nose. “There are two things that only you can grant to me.” There was a long pause, the God glaring hatefully down at Lezard. Odin had seemed to stare right through him, the God’s thoughts clearly elsewhere, a debate raging on inside him. Lezard would stand there patiently, waiting until at last Odin had sagged slightly with defeat.

“Go on.” He had said in an exhausted tone of voice. 

“I want paradise.” Lezard had hastened to explain. “I want your guarantee that when I die, it will not be to Hel’s underworld that I go to.” He had folded his arms across his chest, Lezard’s lifting his chin up stubbornly in response to Odin’s bark of mocking laughter.

“A sinner like you in Asgard’s paradise?” Odin had shook with his laughter. “That will never happen.”

“You can make it possible.” Lezard had argued.

“And why would I? What could you possibly know that would ever make me allow such a thing?:

“If you knew what I knew...if you had any idea of the full enormity of Hel’s plans...” Lezard had shaken his head then, stopping himself from saying too much. “Instead of HER spy, I will be YOURS. The past, the future, and most assuredly the present, all her secrets and her plans will be revealed to you.” 

With a persuading tone, Lezard tried to sway Odin to his side. “You can’t even begin to imagine what she has already done. The alliances that she had made, the plans that Hel had already set in motion.”

“She’d be a fool to attack me head on...” Odin had protested. “Her armies...”

“Are only growing in size.”

“With what and with who? The damned and the undeserving?” Odin had jeered then. “I am not afraid, and I am not worried. They will NEVER be enough to annihilate the Heavens.” 

Lezard almost hadn’t been able to believe just how big a fool that Odin had been acting. Had he really been that powerful, or had it just been overconfidence that had led the God to believe that Hel might never become a threat? 

“How could you have not noticed?” He had asked Odin that, rather than outright insult him. “Have you really no idea of the drop in your own forces? Have you not been told of the dwindling numbers when it comes to newly acquired einherjar?” By the expreesion that had been on Odin’s face, it had been clear that the God had, and that that fact had troubled him greatly. Lezard had pressed the advantage, his voice almost whisper soft then. “It is by no mere coincidence. Your lack of new recruits are all through Hel’s designs.”

“What has she done?!” Odin had demanded in a hoarse tone of voice.

"I will play the spy for you both." Lezard had said instead of answering Odin's question. "You will give me harmless information to relay to my Queen. Enough tidbits to make her think I am successful at her mission. And all the while, I will be giving to you Hel's secrets and plans."

"So you would play the double agent then." Lezard had nodded at that. "And how would I know you are not playing me for a fool, and instead feeding Hel the information that would damn Asgard in the process?"

“”You’ll just have to hope that my trust has been well bought.”

“Trust does not come easily, especially when dealing with one who bears Hel’s mark.” Odin had gruffly pointed out.

“It’s a trust that you will have to give all the same if you’re to stand any chance of defeating Hel and her plans.” Lezard had calmy stepped back, his tone of voice practically detached as he had begun to detail the first stage of his plan. “If I’m to pull this off, we will have to make it seem as though you really have bought into Hel’s deception.” He had stroked his chin as though in deep thought, Lezard pretending to have to think about it. “As a token of the alliance, I think a gift is in order.”

“I’ll not give that bitch a single thing more!” Odin had snapped.

“It’s not a gift for that Goddess.” Lezard had retorted. “It’s a gift for ME.”

“For you?!”

“Call it a token of appreciation, a symbol of just how highly you favor my help in smoothing things over between the heavens and the underworld.” Lezard had explained with a smile.

“And I suppose this gift would be the second of your demands?” A wry tone of voice had accompanied the God’s glare, Lezard only smiling all the more widely at him.

“You know me all too well.”

“I know you not at all.” The God had said with a rude snort of sound. He had then given an impatient gesture with his hand, signaling Lezard to get on with it. The mage had then smirked in response, his eyes looking a little too eager, as he had explained how he had wanted a certain Valkyrie for his bride.

The God’s outraged response was startling even as it had been expected, Lezard quick to understand just why Odin would think that too high a favor to grant. A Valkyrie with a sinner, with a blaspheming follower of the underworld’s Goddess? It was unheard of, an unspoken taboo that Odin hadn’t been prepared to break. It had left Lezard scrambling, the mage working to not only remind Odin of just what he was owed, but of the threat of Hel. The threat and the reasons why they had need to fool her into thinking Odin believed in the alliance.

“What better way than that?” Lezard had demanded. “What better proof do you have than granting Hel’s emissary a highly sought after prize?” Odin had still look unconvinced, the God shaking his head no with a frown. Lezard’s vocie had taken on a cajoling tone, the mage trying to make the deity see the validity of it. “It’s the only way...”

“You ask for much.” Odin had snarled in response. “Many would say TOO much.”

“Given the danger I am putting myself in, the risks that I am and will be taking, some would say I don’t ask for ENOUGH,” Lezard had countered. “I could be killed.” He had added. “In fact, Hel would do WORSE than just kill me.” The risks weighted out in his mind, Lezard had thought of everything that he had stood to lose. His life, his home, his power, his prestige, and of course his very soul. With so much at stake, it wasn’t just fitting, it was a deserved reward that he had asked for and expected. 

That reward his to dictate, Lezard had felt the satisfaction curl across his lips, Odin having at last nodded his head in agreement. Triumph and a dizzying sense of relief had then filled him, Lezard almost swaying in place with the excited disbelief that the Valkyrie Lenneth would soon be his.

His elation had been short lived, Odin’s gaze narrowing into a sharp focus. “You shall have my Lenneth as your bride.” He had said, as a finger raised in warning. “BUT! At a cost to you.”

“A cost?” Lezard had sputtered in disbelief, watching as Odin had then smiled at him.

“You have asked me for two extremely valuable prizes. But you only offer me enough service for ONE.” Odin’s expression had blazed malevolent, his smile twisting into an expression of pure evil. “”If you take a Valkyrie as your bride, Asgard’s paradise will be forever denied to you.” The God had paused, sneering down at Lezard’s shocked expression. “What will it be mortal?” Odin had then asked, leaning forward in his seat, intent on the mage’s answer. “Lenneth or paradise?”

Once if told of this dilemma, Lezard wouldn’t have even hesitated, the man certain of just what he would have chosen. The Lezard of just a day ago, wouldn’t have dreamed of anything else, eternity’s paradise that coveted a goal. One frozen moment on the Plains of Idavoll had changed all that, the remembered vision of that supreme loveliness bolstering his strength. With not a single ounce of hesitation, without even any regrets, or a second thought, Lezard had boldly met the Lord God’s sneer, and had stated the following.

"I would rather have a lifetime of paradise with Lenneth as my bride, then spend an eternity in Asgard without her."

There had been an unreadable look in the God’s eyes, Odin having stared down at him. “So be it.” He had agreed in a grave tone of voice, the very building itself then shaking in the advent of those three simple words. The very promise of them had been written into Lezard’s soul, the bargain sealed and made irreversibly final. 

Even then he hadn’t known regret, Lezard calm and accepting rather than panicked by what he had just done. Lenneth had been all that he had been able to think about, all that he had wanted to focus on, Lezard eager to learn any and everything that there was about his bride to be. Odin hadn’t let him, the God instead insisting that they had had much to talk about. Everything from the plans Hel had been making, to the reason behind the shortage of new warriors. The hows and they whys of what she had done. Lezard had told Odin it all, had endured the questions and the fury, Odin enraged by Hel and her mad schemes. The schemes that had been working, her interference such that the Valkyrie had barely been able to gather any new soldiers for Odin’s war.

All in all, it had taken a good four hours to satisfy the enraged God and his questions, Lezard exhausted by what had amounted to an interrogation. Odin hadn’t allowed the mage the same kind of scrutiny, the God evasive when asked just when and how Lenneth would arrive in Flenceburg. The one and only reassurance that Lezard had had was that the Goddess would not be hurt in the process.

Lezard had never dreamt of the mental anguish that Odin would instead inflict on his Valkyrie. The hurt and the grief, Lenneth the one and only survivor of an ambush that should have seen all of the Asgardians dead. Tortured by the guilt of it, and by the loss of her sister, Lenneth had arrived and been blindsided by a truth she should have already known and been prepared for. 

~Damn him!~ Lezard had thought again. He was so angry with Odin, so angry and so hurt, and made absolutely furious by Odin’s neglect. By the sabotage he had done, Odin quick to turn his back on a promise, and leaving Lenneth to think that she was being punished. 

It was more than just the lack of information that Lenneth had been given, the explanations that Odin himself had owed her. It was the danger the God had let his Valkyrie walk into, Lezard sickened by the idea that if not for the grace of the undead king, Lenneth would have instead died in the ambush’s slaughter. 

The danger and the lack of explanations all the things that went against what Odin had promised, Lezard couldn’t help wondering just what else the God might have gone back on. Just what else would he try, Lezard determined to not let Odin have so complete a victory in making a mess of his private life. The mage would fight tooth and nail for his happiness, for his chance at a future with Lenneth as his bride. That sweet bliss that he had so sought now seemed all but impossible, the odds stacked so neatly against him, Lenneth horrified by what she had discovered. She hadn’t even been able to hide it, the woman’s lack of expertise when it came to deceit and to subterfuge apparent, her eyes, her very expression open and honest, and thoroughly affected by the spell. That love that she was enchanted to feel, it hindered her further, Lenneth frustrated and struggling, trying to keep from being taken over by the full effects of Odin’s enchantment.

It left her in a constant state of assault, Lenneth’s mind in agony, tortured not just by Odin, not just by the loss of her sister and her comrades, but by the very love that the Valkyrie had been enchanted to feel. It was that love, that struggle that made her so honest, that left her unable to school her expressions, Lenneths every horrified thought laying revealed in the stricken gleam of her eyes. 

She didn’t hate him. She COULDN’T, Odin’s enchantment simply too strong. It didn’t stop the fear and the upset, the blatant horror from manifesting, Lenneth reeling in place. She was a pale skinned perfection, the dismay of her expression an equally arresting sight. The woman’s mouth actually trembled with her upset, the determined set of her jaw offset by the defiance that struggled to blaze bright in her eyes. She wasn’t happy. With him, or with where she had ended up, and Lezard couldn’t blame her. Not when he knew how it might feel to be in her shoes, to have had the position and power reversed.

Of course, if by some reason, Lezard had been the one to find himself stranded in an enemy nation, the mage would have also found a way to make the best of the situation. He was after all anything but stupid, Lezard quite calculating and sly. There was a brilliance to him, a mad genius that didn’t just have to do with his magic, Lezard able to both manipulate and play the game of those around him. It was what he had thrived at, Lezard working the angles so that he had always emerged on top. He had fought, schemed and earned his way to his position, Lezard lord of a nation. 

Flenceburg was both the only home that the man had ever known, and the field in which he had honed all of his skills. It was a nation that could and would break you, an immense strength need to survive it. That strength had always been a part of Lezard, the man all but clawing his way from the cradle to the throne. He had stepped on so many, had done so much evil in the name of surviving, and never had the sorcerer had a true need to protect another. Never had he wanted to, and never like the way he now did with Lenneth. 

It wasn’t that he thought the former Goddess a weakling. But there was a vulnerability to her, a softness exposed that had everything to do with her mental torment, that hurt that she was feeling made all the stronger by the enchantment that she was under. Lezard wanted to spare her from it, wanted to take Lenneth into his embrace and assure her that everything would turn out all right. He had no real guarantees of it, Lezard aware that Lenneth was in danger, surrounded by enemies of a far different kind.

What might be her greatest threat had then appeared, a large group of women spilling out into the hall. The relative quiet of the servants were disrupted by the giggling gaggle of nobles, the women dressed in their brightly colored and expensive finery, enough silken frills and imported lace to profit an entire kingdom.

That wealth was on display, but not so much existed sense of good taste. The women in their form fitting, and revealing clothing, lit up with excitement at the sight of their Lord. At the sight of the women with him, the group hurrying forward. 

“There he is!” Came the exclamation, the crowd parting enough so that a tall leggy blonde would take the lead. Her gold spun hair had been left unadorned, and had blazed bright against the deep purple of her gown. There was an emerald colored lacing edging her bodice’s curves, the waist cinched tight to give her an even more slender appearance. She was admittedly beautiful, and yet Lezard had felt not a thing when it came to desire. Instead, the man had to stifle a groan at the sight of that woman, having hoped against hope that this moment could have been avoided.

“Hello Mystina.” Lezard couldn’t stop the audible sigh of exasperation, or keep the annoyance that he felt from showing. The man felt as though he had barely been heard, barely been noticed, Mystina and her group slinking past him with excited murmurs.

“Is that her?” One had asked. “Is that the Valkyrie?”

“Oh but she is lovely.” Another had sighed in admiration. 

“Look at her hair!” Another had exclaimed. “I’ve never seen such an unnatural color.”

“It’s beautiful.” Another had whispered, trying to reach out to Lenneth. The Goddess had turned, side stepping the touch that would have stroke reverence over that braided hair, but there was no avoiding the group of woman who had moved to surround her.

“Ladies, don’t crowd her so!”

“Oh, do relax, Lezard.” It had been Mystina who had spoken, though her tone and her words had hardly been reassuring. “They’ve just never seen a Valkyrie before.” A murmur of agreement from her companions, the awestruck compliments continuing. They were all so focused on her appearance, and on what Lenneth had once been, the women scrutinizing the Valkyrie. Asking her a million and one questions, and seeming oblivious to the unease in the woman’s eyes. 

It had been more than just unease. Lenneth had been tensing up for a fight, her fingers flexing as though she would curl her hands into a fist. Her eyes had kept on darting from one face to another, Lenneth trying to watch all of them, and failing to keep from being touched. The onslaught of questions continued, some of them bordering on rude. It didn’t seem to matter that Lenneth was not trying to answer ANY of them, Mystina and her group far too excited and curious to care.

If it had been anyone else, if it had been any other woman, Lezard might have been amused. Instead for Lenneth, a strange sort of pity roused on the heels of his strong surging anger. The magic crackled inside him, raised the hairs on everyone’s neck. A few wide eyed looks were cast his way, the more talented of the bunch sensing Lezard’s desire. His temptation to unleash an offensive spell. With that broiling energy inside him, with the power ghosting along his skin, most of the women wisely stepped out of his way. The blonde Mystina wore the utmost in annoyed expressions, the woman glaring narrowed eyes at him as Lezard reached forward and grasped hold of his Goddess’ hand. She didn’t quite flinch, Lenneth allowing Lezard to pull her free of the complaining group of women. Mystina’s voice would be the loudest, the angriest, the woman shouting after him that he wouldn’t be able to keep the Valkyrie all to himself. Lezard hadn’t bother to dignify that with an answer, instead breaking them into an abrupt run.

 

To Be Continued…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated 9.29.2017 Man this one took me over a week to rewrite. It was more than just an overhaul, I had to trash and start practically from scratch so much of this. See I always felt seven was one of the weaker chapters. Like when I had wrote the original, I had the ideas, but I completely mishandled explaining and fleshing out and presenting most of the concepts in this chapter. I think this new version is a million times better, and I hope you’ll agree it was well worth my time to rework. :)
> 
> \---Michelle


	8. Chapter 8

An ambush was upon her, an ensuing onslaught of bright colors and loud noises that was as unwelcome and as unanticipated as it had been sudden, those sights and those sounds and most of all those smells, filing into the now cramped space around her. There was over a dozen assailants, each charging forward in a wave of silk and satin finery, those thick brocades and heavy skirts all a whisper with the rustling sound of many a gown in motion. It couldn’t drown out the sound of their voices, that loud, abrasive roar that could have put to shame an entire regiment of soldiers, that laughter and excitement such that it hurt Lenneth’s ears to listen to. It wasn’t just that of their voices, or the vivid and varied hues of their clothing, it was all of it, from the eager hunger of their expressions, to the sickening sweet stench of their perfumes. It was a full out assault on nearly all of her senses, Lenneth under an attack of a far different kind. 

Used to the violence and brutality of war, the blood and the gore, Lenneth was completely caught off guard to be the focus of anyone’s interest. Or that of their curiosity, that blatant admiration that bordered on malicious. Or of the sly compliments and hurtful observations, Lenneth born and bred for the battlefield rather than made prepared for the intricacies of a human’s social complexities. Forged steel had always been her weapon of choice, Lenneth more a fighter rather than that of a diplomat. Her strength and abilities honed and trained on the Plains of Idavoll, it was now the words that were her undoing. The questions and the comments, the openly blatant rudeness, Lenneth not so much admired as put on display for any and all to touch and poke at her.

They picked up on everything. From the unusual color of her hair, to the questions about the divinity that had been stripped from her. They even tried to pry the secrets from her, eager and ready for any and all tidbits about the Heavens, about the land that these damned would NEVER see. The Valkyrie was on guard against that, not ready to betray her king and her people, or the home that she had been protecting for thousands of years. 

She could keep safe Asgard’s secrets, but the woman couldn’t protect her own heart even half as well. Not from these women, not from their blunt eagerness, from the downright inappropriate questions that they asked.

“What was it like to be a Goddess?”

“How does it FEEL to be made mortal now?”

“Do you know what the means? Are you even prepared for that tragic a reality?”

“Where will your soul go when you die?”

She had no answers for them, she had none for HERSELF. Lenneth hadn’t had time to dwell on the hard truths of her lost divinity, hadn’t even begun to process what it might truly mean to be mortal. She knew next to nothing of what she would face, the hardships of her own body, the demands that would be placed on it and on her. Lenneth was downright ignorant, the only true certainty that she had, was that of how time was now against her. 

Every second spent here was wasted, her time a commodity that was in ever dwindling demand. It made life seem all the more precious, it’s every act valued. From the breath that she still drew, to the ever weakening source of strength inside her, that mortality a poison. A death sentence, Lenneth feeling the first kernels of a human’s fear. For the first time in her long and storied life, the Valkyrie was feeling afraid to die.

Unprepared for it, and equally as unready to actually live, Lenneth found her breath coming out faster, in short panicked bursts. The narrow hall seemed to close in around her, the women crowding her back against a wall. She nearly startled in place against it, practically flinched when one woman ran a finger down the length of her bared arm. The piercing green eyes of another, of the blonde woman who Lezard had named as Mystina, watched carefully of Lenneth’s every reaction. 

There was power in that gaze, that and a cool kind of detachment. A serpent’s feigned indifference, this woman missed not a beat of the Valkyrie’s torment. Pinned under that gaze, and under the onslaught of the prattling females, the fight or flight tension that existed inside her was then boiling over, Lenneth’s hands making fists. It would have been tantamount to suicide to attack them, an inglorious end to a life that had spanned centuries. It would have brought dishonor to her name, to her very king, the shame of Lenneth’s failures as a Valkyrie weighty enough already, without any more needless folly added to that tally.

Aware of her duty, of both it’s expectations and it’s burdens, Lenneth met the jade green gaze of the blonde. The space between them seemed to crackle electric, the Valkyrie FEELING the woman’s power. The immense source of it inside her, it made Lenneth’s skin crawl with her unease, her every instinct screaming out a warning, sparking a need to strike down this threat. Still more warrior goddess than human in thought, it was the woman’s physical limitations, her mortality and all the odds that were now stacked against her, that just barely held Lenneth in check. 

A leash around her emotions, around her inborn instincts, she could only stand there and endure. A victim of a curiosity that bordered on cruel, Lenneth bore the weighty brunt of her pride, the woman not one to bring shame to the glorious name of the Valkyrie. She was after all the first, and most likely the only one of her kind that this damned bunch would ever see. The one and only taste of the heavens afforded, and even made mortal the former Goddess was still sublime. Existing as an example of what they should have all aspired to, Lenneth was both a person to be envied and admired.

The blessings of her blood, the divine knowledge inside her head, Lenneth was a shining tangible proof. A beacon of hope and a promise, the one time Goddess’ very existence enough to shake the foundations of even a sinner’s faith. More than one damned had had reason to look upon a Valkyrie and been made to feel the poignant regret, their doubts and their fears manifesting as a keen awareness of their sins. The choices that they had made, the acts and decisions that had helped blacken their soul. 

To look upon a Valkyrie was both a blessing and a curse, the Goddess a reminder of the heavens that did in fact exist. The paradise that was denied to so many, the doomed and the damned forever barred from it’s lands. The doubt and despair of that awareness had driven a lesser mind mad, Hel’s faithful angry, that scheming determination driving many to commit even greater acts of sin. It was either that or repent, and Odin was not a God known for his mercies or his compassion.

She was almost bitter then, the first traitorous stirring blooming to life inside her. Lenneth resented the God, resented more than just his inability to forgive. There was that deep seated need inside her, the overwhelming sense of urgency that she still had, Silmeria’s immortal soul in ever present danger. More concerned with her sister’s fate than that of her own, for the first time ever, Lenneth wondered if Odin had been WRONG. 

It was blasphemy to even think that, to let doubt of any kind take root inside of her heart where her lord and her king was concerned. That first betraying trickle inside her, Lenneth tried to fight it, tried to push it back before it could become even more. Her traitorous heart whispered of the unfairness, of the injustice of it all, Lenneth shaking with her efforts to suppress such a voice. She spun from one though to another, rushed past both the love and the horror, to focus on the facts as she now knew them. The divinity and the strength that the Valkyrie had been stripped of, the enemy nation she had been placed in the midst of, and the man whose love would enslave her. None of it helped to fight against her anger, against it and the helplessness that was welling up inside her. Lenneth shook all the more, a million questions upon her, the former Goddess’ thoughts drowning out the voices all around her. 

She could have screamed then. Could have erupted into a full on despair, Lenneth reeling in place, drowning amid a sea of feminine finery and breathing in the sickly sweet stench of thickly cloying perfume. The faces all blurred together, their voices nothing more than a dull, unintelligible roar. Her very world seemed to fly apart, and it was only the sudden firm grip of a hand around hers, that brought the Valkyrie staggering back.

Wide eyed and quite possibly gasping, Lenneth rapidly blinked her eyes at the jacketed back presented before her. At the trust that it implied, Lenneth aware of how tempting and vulnerable a position that it was, that back an open target that would have welcome the sharp tip of her blade. She might have thought him a fool then, the measure of protection that the love potion afforded him not equating that to mean that the Valkyrie inside her was at all tamed.

That wild spirit inside her waged a fierce war with the enchantment that Odin had placed Lenneth under. She fought those sickening soft feelings, the love that tried to take hold of her, some weak part of the Goddess’ heart finding itself touched by the protection that Lezard was now offering. The rescue, that pull on her hand, that urged Lenneth to break out into a run, the long, flowing skirts of her gown nearly tangling around her legs before the Valkyrie thought to gather up the worst of them with a fist.

The betraying rustle of those onerous skirts could not drown out the sound of the women’s upset. That of the voices raising in protest, one in particular shouting that Lezard would not be able to keep the Valkyrie all to himself for much longer. The man said nothing to that taunting truth, the only betrayal of his own unease that of his fingers tightening a more secure grip around her. Lezard ran as though the demon beasts of Nifleheim had just given chase, as though Hel herself was breathing down their necks. 

There would have been no chance of escape if THAT had been the case, Hel and her demons were a relentless, near tireless force to contend with. Lenneth knew that first hand, having at times hunted after the monsters of Nifleheim that had dared to step past the boundaries that Odin himself had set in place. Each time the pursuit had taken weeks, the underworld’s beasts having left a trail of dead bodies in their wake.

Each time it had resulted in death and devastation, and each time Lenneth or another of her kind, had seen to putting an end to the blasphemous blight spreading across the realms. Honored and revered as upholders of Odin’s law, Lenneth and the Valkyries were familiar with most if not all of the threats to the nine realms of Creation. The strategies in her head, their weaknesses hers to exploit, Lenneth not only knew of most if not all of Nifleheim’s demons, she had killed off her fair share of them. 

Familiar and well versed with what they were, with what they did, the underworld’s denizens were monsters in every sense of the word. The brutality that she had seen, that Lenneth had faced, and none of it had prepared her for the realities of the human world. It wasn’t just the sights and the sounds, the outside stimuli, or that of the love potion, it was all of it, Lenneth thrust into the middle of a world that she knew NOTHING about.

That was the true source of her discontent, her upset only magnified when those women had approached her. Those smiling, prattling females who had taken the choice from her, Lenneth surrounded by questions and a malice that had been apparent in more than one set of eyes. She wasn’t prepared for a subterfuge of emotions, for an admiration that was in truth a thinly veiled contempt. Picked on and preyed upon, Lenneth had all but frozen in place. Had all but panicked, the weight of their questions a burden her heart hadn’t been prepared to take. 

She could have died then, lost to the foreign fright inside her, the uncertainty that had made the woman panic in way that she had never. Lenneth wasn’t used to fearing anything, wasn’t used to not having some kind of plan, her thoughts all a jumble. It took the grounding force of HIS hand to have saved her, Lenneth grabbing onto Lezard like the life line the man had become to her. 

Gratitude bubbled up in her heart, one uncertain second where her steel resolve and iron determination had faltered, Odin’s enchantment then attempting to sink it’s claws more firmly into her. It took a concentrated effort to remember to fight against the effect, Lenneth’s thoughts inwardly screaming, the woman trying desperately to keep her feelings from becoming any more muddled. Not even the horror of the day’s discoveries, the realizations that had been born on it’s heels, could completely stop the love from winding a sliver thin tendril through her. She nearly fell then, her chest tight with that foreign emotion. With that unwanted feeling, everything else was overshadowed, Lenneth looking out with the eyes of a stranger.

She might have HATED Odin then. For the crimes committed against her, for the love that might still enslave her, such faltering thoughts making Lenneth stumble. There was a very real war being waged on inside her, the battle not just for Lenneth’s heart, but for the woman’s sense of self. She was drowning, fighting to remember, to be the Valkyrie that the woman was in truth. The warrior Goddess whose only love was that of her sisters, and that of the battlefield. It was that woman, that soldier who took her duties so seriously, who chafed at the idea of becoming nothing more than any man’s plaything. Damned or divine, it mattered not, Lenneth not about to simply lay down and become some slave of the enchantment’s love.

Remembering the Valkyrie who had commanded armies, who had spent the entirety of her immortality fighting, it was that woman who Lenneth drew strength from. It was her sword that forced back the worst of the enchantment’s effects, the Goddess finally thinking past her upset and panic to truly look at the situation and facts with shrewd eyes. The hard truths of her reality, that horror that HAD made Lenneth despair, was now tilted over and analyzed, the woman looking for a deeper meaning behind this punishment.

Desperate for a reason, for an actual purpose beyond that of being made to play part of an alliance that would seal and tie Asgard and Nifleheim together, Lenneth grasped at and built upon what little she knew. That of Nifleheim and it’s Midgard holdings, the souls of so many damned and unworthy, both the dead and the living, desperate but ever so loyal to the Goddess who had offered them her cruel favor. Hel, who might as well be little more than a thief, carving her mark onto so many, ruining them and their chances at the Heavens. It was fact that those favored by Nifleheim’s Queen, noble and commoner alike, that taint upon their souls kept them from the ultimate in paradise. Such was her ruinous brand, that even those warrior souls in Hel’s keep, could not ascend to the Heavens through any of the sanctioned means.

It would take an intervention of the divine sort, for a soul cursed by Queen Hel, to stand even a chance at salvation. Odin had never been so inclined. He had never even shown an inkling of caring about those souls damned, and the people lost under Hel’s command. Until NOW. Lenneth could not figure out the catalyst, the reason behind Odin’s sudden show of interest. The former Valkyrie Goddess did not think for one second that it was a case of his heart becoming benevolent. Maybe it was wrong of her, blasphemous even, to think so unkindly of her king. It didn’t stop the seeds of suspicion from having sprouted inside her, Lenneth needing to understand, needing a reason, an excuse to place behind this so called sham of an alliance.

Her brow furrowed with that thought, Lenneth wondering what in Odin’s name, did the God hope to achieve by allying with the underworld’s queen. Odin had the power, the strength, and he had the army borne of both einherjar and Valkyrie at his command. He had the best and the brightest, the most capable and the most skilled. Culled from nearly all of the nine realms, Odin’s Valkyries and their einherjar, had kept not only the Heavens free of Hel’s influence, and impeded Brahms’ push for more power, they had helped defend much of Midgard and Alfheim, and even such places as far out as Jotunheim. They had stayed the worst of Hel’s hand, had minimized much of the threat of the undead blight from spreading across those realms. Yet Asgard’s troubles remained, waylaid by strife and siege, the vampires and the monsters at their command, a poison that had taken root in the heavens. No matter how many the Valkyries and einherjar destroyed, more always came, leaving less and less time for those battle driven Goddesses to guard over the many realms of Creation. 

Stretched thin as they were, the Valkyries and their subordinates had still endeavored to maintain the balance of Creation. To keep the situation from becoming so dire and so desperate. For the most part they had been succeeding, despite the occasional losses that they had suffered when it came to Midgard and it’s people. The mortal realm was such, that even with those few cities lost to Nifleheim’s grasp, Odin’s faithful still numbered in the triple thousands. 

No matter how Lenneth looked at it, the situation was such that there was no true merit in aligning the heavens with the underworld’s queen. Hel was a viper, that venomous bitch laying in wait, ready to seize any and all opportunity to advance her own mad ambitions. There’d be not a lick of hesitation in her, back stabbings and betrayals just the latest two exploits of a Goddess who was known for her lies and manipulations. Only a fool, or someone very much desperate, would even think to place any kind of trust in the ruler of Nifleheim. Odin had never been either, instead sly like a fox, and keeper of the ancient wisdom. Leaps and bounds ahead of all who would oppose him, Lenneth’s love addled mind struggled to keep up. 

Less effort was needed for her body to match pace with Lezard Valeth’s hurried and harried one. She heard as well as felt the rustle of her gown, that long length of skirts bunched up and gathered in hand. Felt the glide of the floor beneath the silk of her feet’s slippers, a breeze dancing across her skin from the speed of their movements. They surely made for an odd sight, this pairing of divine and damned making a mad dash about the castle. They flew past open doors, and startled expressions, ran past more displays of wealth than Lenneth had been prepared to see. 

Everything all blurred together, the sights and the sounds, Lezard’s hand gripping hers the only grounding force Lenneth currently had left. It would have been easy to fly away in truth, to give herself over to the enchantment and the love it would force on her. Only her own stubborn will held it at bay, only the sheer and overwhelming need for this situation to be something more than this nightmare of a punishment, kept the Valkyrie from falling. In her head she kept screaming, the repeated thought insisting there HAD to be meaning to Lenneth being stationed here, in the heart of enemy territory. They had to be wrong, both Lezard and Queen Hel, this alliance and marriage nothing more than a trick. The question then, a trick on whose part? Nifleheim or Asgard, or both? It made her stumble then, a half formed idea taking root, Lenneth realizing she was primed for a position to undermine Hel and her twisted ambitions.

Made giddy with the realization, with the idea of what she stood poised to do, Lenneth’s hopes and ambitions all but flew apart, the second Lezard turned to steady her with both of his hands. They caught and lingered about her waist, both supported her upright, and kept her from tumbling feet first down a staircase she hadn’t yet noticed. Wide eyed and startled, Lenneth felt the fast beat beat of her heart, that nervous patter starting long before she looked up into his face. It only thrummed louder then, that erratic pulse a reaction to the dark promise that lurked in his eyes. To the hunger in that amethyst color, the desire and even the concern. He stared at her as though she was the only woman in the world, as though only Lenneth truly mattered. 

It was a stark look of a man in need, of a man whose desire was great enough to justify ANY sin. Lenneth found herself blinking rapidly in flustered response, the gasp having caught in her throat. His fingers sinking their grip into her waist further impeded her ability to breathe. She could feel the warmth of them, of him, through the thin layer of her clothing. She found it unbearable, the touch AND the open hunger of his stare. Never had a man looked at her in this way, never had any dared! She was more warrior than woman, a lesser deity in her own right, Lenneth a Goddess who had never been worshiped for more than her sword. This Lezard looked at her not as the battle maiden who had led many a confrontation to a decisive victory, but simply as a woman. 

There was no defense against it, against him, Lenneth shaking, actually trembling from the effort that it took to not fall into him. Her heart skipped one erratic beat after another, and the situation was made worse by Odin’s enchantment and Lezard’s propitiatory nearness. Both strove to affect her, to drive the Goddess half mad with a wanting of her own. 

The push and pull play of the enchantment’s attempt at desire, and Lenneth’s own inward fury, made for an explosive mix. It left her both dizzy and confused, her mind clouded over one second with love, only to have the Goddess fight tooth and nail for the clarity to be able to think past Odin’s magic. In the split second that it took for that sliver thin glimmer of love to warm the Valkyrie’s skin with a blush, she pushed and lurched her way back to freedom. 

The distance now established between them, Lenneth couldn’t help but to fix Lezard with an angry stare. All her proud resentment and fury was within that gaze, the Goddess needing someone to blame, someone to hate. He seemed to realize it too, but the shiver that went through him, was not one borne of fear or revulsion. If anything, the man seemed to admire her MORE, as though her spirited self was exactly the kind of challenge he wanted in a bride.

“Ah, forgive me….” The silence between them was finally broken.

“You presume too much!” The words spat out of her angrily. That amethyst gaze blinked slowly in response, but he didn’t quite apologize, Lezard instead asking Lenneth if she had WANTED him to let her FALL. It was the gesture with his hand that then got her to notice, the Valkyrie spying the staircase that had laid situated a scant few inches past where the man had caught hold of her.

She might have paled then, the dawning realization upon her. It was a long, long way down, each step and the floor below them made of carved stone. She wouldn’t have come away whole from the experience, Lenneth understanding she’d be lucky if a broken arm or leg was the worst injury she might have sustained. 

What might have passed for pity flashed into his eyes. Her fists curled in helpless response, Lenneth cursing him and the gratitude that locked up in her throat, this Lezard having enough good sense to not point out what she had already realized. That of the fact that she could have died if he hadn’t caught her, if he hadn’t stopped her fall. She still couldn’t thank him. She wouldn’t! Her resentment such that it stubbornly needed an outlet of some sort.

It was difficult to outright hate him, Odin’s enchantment such that the love it was attempting to force on her, made Lenneth somewhat more tolerant of unforgivable acts. Such as the fact of his mere existence, the magic inside him so powerful, and so black, that Lenneth could taste the corruption of his soul. This was a man who had made the dark artes a part of him, though the Goddess hadn’t yet ascertained just what level of bad and depraved he truly was. Once it wouldn’t have mattered, no matter the degree of sin and sordid magic, his a tangible taint that would have merited an immediate execution. But times were apparently changing, and not just because of the enchantment’s love. If the alliance was at all to be believed. It still made her queasy, Lenneth sick at the thought of the Valkyries having to perhaps work side by side with such damnable souls.

Worst yet though, would be to love one, Lenneth suppressing another shiver. She couldn’t stand to look at him, she couldn’t stand to NOT, the conflicting emotions inside her, the real versus the manufactured, Lenneth’s truth versus Odin’s enchantment. It forced her to be on constant guard, the slightest slip ready to tumble her head first into a full blown case of love. She had to fight every step of the way, had to stay vigilant against her heart’s softening. Against the unwanted longings stirring inside her. The sickening sentiments, the questions and the urges, Lenneth never before having wondered about what the texture of a man’s hair would feel like.

Her fingertips actually itched with the desire to touch him, that question needing an answer. She refused it, refused HIM, Lenneth deliberate as she told herself that she would just have to make do without the discovery of just how silk soft his hair might truly be. Her fingers then curled inwards, in yet another outward sign of her internal struggle. She frowned at Lezard then, the woman shaking her head no.

“Don’t!” But who was that snarled out word for? Him or for her? Rhyme and reason had left her, Lenneth feeling as though she could no longer tell up from down, the Goddess so focused on her heart’s battle.

His head cocked to the side, the pity gone now to his curiosity. “Dont?” He echoed, and had the grace to not sound confused. “Don’t what, Lenneth?”

Her frown became a full out glower, but the words whispered tightly out of her was soft, downright plaintive. “Do not pity me!”

His eyes widened slightly at that, watching her as Lenneth lifted a shaking finger to point her accusations at him. “Do not pity me, and do not mock me!”

“I’ve done neither.” Lezard said in answer to her exclamation. “Nor would I ever.” His step forward brought him closer to her, Lenneth anger heightening at her body’s immediate response. The weakness that it showed him, the woman having taken a step back to avoid him. 

“You lie!”

Now he was the one frowning, Lezard staring at her with some sort of perplexity. “I’ve not had any real reason to lie to you, and certainly not about this.” He took another step forward and another, until he had cornered her against a stone wall. Lenneth fought her shiver of unease and fixed him with a mutinous look.

“You haven’t been entirely truthful either.” She pointed out. “Every act of evasion is as good as a lie. What did you offer, what did Hel, for my Lord, Odin, to have ever agreed to this union?”

She saw the hesitation, saw the tick in his jaw, as his teeth clenched together for one second more. “You can’t even tell me?” Lenneh then demanded. “Or is it that you won’t?”

“My Queen’s secrets are not mine to give, any more than Odin’s are.” He was standing booted toes to her slippered ones, the man so close that Lezard’s breath was a warm caress on Lenneth’s skin. His finger was suddenly pressing against her lips, gentle but insistent in it’s demand for her to keep quiet. “Valkyries have always been coveted prizes, the reward your King dangles to the most favored of his followers. Hel merely followed suit, and awarded your hand to one she considered worthy enough of a Goddess.”

She wanted to bite him then, and the threat of it must have shown in her eyes. Lezard abruptly pulled his hand away, placing it instead on the wall to the right of her. Lenneth’s blue eyes flashed at that, the Valkyrie feeling boxed in and indignant. “Worthy!? YOU!?” She could keep from scoffing, that sound making his lips curl for some reason. 

It made her shake, her insides all a quiver in response to that half smile, half smirk.

“Maybe not by the Heaven’s lofty ideals...” He murmured throatily to her. His head was bending closer to hers, the warmth of his lips almost upon hers. “But by Queen Hel’s…?”

Lenneth audibly swallowed at that. “And just….” She hate how breathless a quality her voice had taken on, how invitingly female she sounded in the moment. “Just what does one need to do to be considered worthy in Hel’s eyes?”

The question was a blow, one Lezard stiffened at. She felt no victory in the moment, Lenneth staring at the man crowding in so close to her. “Just WHAT are you in Hel’s kingdom?”

There was a somber look to his expression now, the amethyst tortured by whatever truth was his answer. His mouth started to part, the sensual shape of his lips attempting to form the words he seemed loathe to give voice to. The first syllable never came, a clatter and commotion sounding behind him, as a startled group of female servants blushed and stammered over the scene they had just come across.

The moment was then ruined, that haunted light fading away, as though the feeling had never even been there inside him. “Le….Lezard?”

“Oh, do pardon us your lordship!” The servants were babbling, some outright giggling. They were all wide eyes and staring, many trying to peer past Lezard to get a good look at his bride to be. He didn’t quite seem relieved by the interruption, nor was he outright annoyed. If anything, he gave a kind of sickly smile to the women, which only seemed to bring out the crimson of their blushes.

Lenneth’s own embarrassment could almost surpass that of the giggling and giddy maids, the Valkyrie beyond mortified at what these women had come across. At the intimacy that Lezard’s closeness to her had been implying, Lenneth’s boxed in position lending the illusion that a kiss had been about to have happen. There was real shame at the thought, Lenneth’s mouth opening, as though she would try to explain the situation. The words were on the tip of her tongue, then swallowed up before the woman could give voice to them, the Goddess knowing she was literally caught between a rock and a hard place. The truth as it was, and the truth as the maids might decipher based on her actions.

Loathe as she was to accept things as it was, Lenneth understood how important this alliance would be to Hel and her followers. The benefits and privileges that might be allowed them, whatever that might truly be. The rewards Odin might give, the promises he might have already made, such were the endless possibilities as to drive a person mad with wanting and determination. Lusting for any and all scrapes of what Odin might have offered, there would be few if any inside this castle who would take kindly to his Valkyrie’s insubordination in ANY measure. 

Aware of what her presence here meant, what her compliance and submission would bring them, Lenneth would have to tread very carefully amid the murky waters that was Flenceburg. She couldn’t appear to be too defiant of her husband to be, of his wants and his needs, the rebellion inside her not something that these people, that Hel, that not even Lord Odin, would appreciate. Already deemed a failure in her king’s eyes, Lenneth could not afford to be branded a traitor too. 

Helpless by the realizations, the knowledge that her hands were in fact tied, the Valkyrie still could not give up on the thought that there might be a greater purpose for her being here. She’d go insane otherwise, Lenneth lost to the enchantment, to Lezard and to Queen Hel. The Goddess couldn’t bear it, fighting even harder against Odin’s magic. She couldn’t guard her expression though, her eyes still so defiant and upset, Lenneth grateful for the shadows Lezard’s back cast her in. The measure of protection it implied, Lenneth keeping hidden from the servants who were ever so curious about her.

So bothered by the situation, by her nightmare of a reality, Lenneth didn’t immediately pick up on any oddities of this arrival. Preoccupied with her upset, and with Lezard’s presumptuous nearness, the Goddess wasn’t surprised she hadn’t heard the footfalls, or the rustle of clothing. She had been completely unaware, not picking up on anyone’s presence, or that of their energy until after the maids had gasped out at their sudden findings.

She blamed this on the enchantment, on the love Odin had tried to force down her throat. Her senses so dulled and consumed with fighting it, and this unnatural attraction to a sinner, Lenneth was aware of so little else without a concentrated effort to focus. Even now her thoughts drifted about in a lazy, distracted shuffle, keeping the Goddess from being fully present in the moment. She knew that too was dangerous, Lenneth surrounded by sinners and the damned. There was so much to be on guard against, so much sin and corruption every which way that she could have turned. The most suffocating of unworthy stood in front of her, Lezard focused on saying something to the still somewhat giggly group of maids. His brand of dangerous energy was such that she was drowning in resentments, unable to immediately pay heed to anything, to anyone, else. She nearly missed it completely, that distinct lack of spark about the servants. The magic that wasn’t there, the sin and corruption of soul that they all appeared to be lacking. These women were ones who would be considered worthy, if only they would pick up a sword and die in Odin’s name.

She was then wide eyed with the realization that these weren’t the sinfully damned, but more the circumstantial unfortunate. The left overs in Odin’s kingdom, the souls who would never be deemed worthy enough of the heavens, truly doomed for their inability to fight and die in battle. The Valkyries knew of such people, knew of their existence, and their hopeless state. They had also never known what to make of them, of the people who would not take to battle, even to save their own souls.

Such was the fate of these innocents, that the Valkyries themselves had been divided on what should be done with them. Some absolutely blinded with their loyalty to Lord Odin, fell in righteous support of his decree. Others expressed or kept quiet their own doubts, few if any loose enough of lip to outright proclaim Odin’s stance cruel. There was even a few like Lenneth, who had never been able to truly decide the right and the wrong of it, unable to support such a rigid law, but equally unable to fight to change it.

The laws of Creation had always remained intact, had always been there to protect only those deemed worthy of Odin’s paradise. It wasn’t right, and it wasn’t fair, that those who led quiet, simple lives, that those dutiful people who died of sickness, or of time, could not be allowed into the heavens. Those righteous number of the devoted, and of the children who died before they could ever be given a choice, and always Odin had refused them all. Damned because they were doomed, these unfortunate only had one place to go, one God to turn to. 

Lenneth wondered if it would be the same for her soul when SHE died. Would she be consigned to Hel’s tortures for all eternity, or would she be welcomed into the oblivion of nothingness, the Valkyries nothing more than divine energy displaced once dead. Her newly afflicted mortality left her in doubt, this endless suffering knowing no bounds, one worry and thought after another scurrying about her confused and tormented mind. If the woman had been less than a Goddess, if she had been any weaker of the heart, the Valkyrie might have broken down sobbing.

Tortured as she was, Lenneth refused to give anyone the satisfaction of her tears. Not even Lord Odin. She let Lezard make his excuses, the giggling gaggle of women being made to move on past them. There was almost a disappointed whine to the group, the ladies again trying to catch better sight of Lenneth.

“Ah...” Lezard breathed out a sigh once the last of the servants was gone. “Do forgive them their curiosity...”

“It’s understandable.” Lenneth murmured. “I would think anyone would be curious about your new bride.”

“Well yes, but not for that reason alone.” 

“What other reason could there be?” Lenneth wondered. He seemed flustered in response, and for one brief moment, the Valkyrie thought the man would not answer her at all.

“They have never before been privilege to get this close to a Valkyrie. None of us have.”

“None?” Lenneth’s eyes widened with astonishment. Lezard had turned at her gasp, a raised finger pushing against the gold pane spectacles that had started a slide down his nose. The amethyst of his eyes were dark, an absolutely serious look in his eyes as the man gave the Goddess his regard.

“Is it really that shocking?” Lenneth started to nod an almost absent minded yes, but Lezard wasn’t yet done, fixing her with a deeply curious look of his own. “When was the last time you, when any of the Valkyrie, has had reason to come to one of Hel’s holdings?”

Lenneth’s mouth started to open, then abruptly closed with a sound. “Ah.” Addled as her mind was, the Goddess was still able to focus enough to think on the question. “There’s always a Valkyrie or two dispatched to other realms...” She murmured. “Depending on the crisis and threat faced...” Unspoken was that the threat was almost always a monster of Nifleheim’s make, let loose upon the unsuspecting masses of Creation.

The cities under Hel’s protection have never had reason to worry in that regard. After all, there was no true benefit in the underworld’s goddess allowing her pets to run a muck in her own holdings, Nifleheim’s Queen instead intent on terrorizing those who fell in and worshiped Asgard’s divine pantheon. Such had been Hel’s hate for Odin’s own, countless indiscriminate killings resulting from her nightmarish creations rampage across the realms.

Most time Hel’s ambitions had been manageable, the monsters that she had given leave to bring death and devastation to any and all in their path, easily hunted and put down. Sometimes however, the underworld’s Goddess tried to extend her reach further than being that mindless slaughter of innocence. There was a real malevolence to the Nifleheim’s Queen, Hel not satisfied to merely be some mild nuisance. No one had ever understood why, the Goddess who ruled over those damned and those doomed, insane to the point that even Hel might not remember what her own reasons for warring against Creation were.

Lucid or insane, whatever the reason, war had resulted often enough. Midgard was the unfortunate caught in the cross fire, it’s lands the field on which the battles took place. The fighting that sometimes last hundreds of years, with cities and civilizations caught in the middle, the broken bodies of the faithful spread out among the fires of real ruin.

The wars had never come close to granting Hel access to the Heavens. The best she could often reap, was more souls for her torture, Nifleheim positively bloated with the damned and unfortunate. The unworthy. It made not one bit of difference in the balance of Creation, those number of souls consigned to the Underworld no match for the heavens and the Valkyries that guarded over the many realms. With the combined might of those lethal beauties, and that of their loyal soldiers, the einherjar, that were legion upon legion to command, the divine troops had seen to keeping Midgard safe and in Odin’s control.

Or at least they once had. That war that had never ended, that had gone on far longer than Lenneth had been a Valkyrie, had started to change things. Brahms and his undead forces, their relentless attempt to press deeper into the heart of Asgard, had left Odin busy. Had left his troops divided and harried, not enough Valkyrie to go around and over see all of the nine realms. Midgard had been the one to suffer the most, the mortals unable to self govern and protect themselves from most threats. Especially that of the undead, or that of Nifleheim. 

Ever the opportunist, Hel had used Odin’s distraction, to steal some of his strongholds scattered about Midgard. The desperate and the damned, the unguided and aimless, the fearful and the resentful. Those she could not seduce into her service willingly, Hel had sometimes managed to just TAKE. Several prominent strongholds of human civilization had been lost to Nifleheim’s grasp, and Lord Odin had either been too busy or too uncaring to try and get them back. In fact, by Lenneth’s own reckoning, it had been hundred upon hundreds of years, since the last war between them had truly been waged.

Lenneth had lived a long eternity, her immortality having stretched out for centuries. Nearly all of that time had been spent on one battlefield after another, these endless repeats of war such that the Valkyrie couldn’t always remember when exactly the events had happened or for why. It took a real concentrated effort to think, the Goddess made mortal trying to recall when exactly had a Valkyrie had any business with any of the cities under Hel’s control. Or with the nation of Flenceburg specifically. Was it two hundred, or was it three hundred years since this city in particular had been lost? Did it even matter, save to cement it as truth that it would have been a long time indeed before ANY Valkyrie would have had any business with this nation and it’s people.

Flenceburg and other cities like it, were all but considered lost to the heavens. Less than lost, they and their people had all but been abandoned by Odin. Lenneth and the other Valkyries had always assumed a reckoning would come, that the God who ruled over Creation, would one day take back the people and places that had been his to begin with. The relentless Brahms and his undead invasion, had simply made Odin’s priorities shift to keeping the Gods’ paradise safe above everything else.

Lenneth supposed she couldn’t blame him. Asgard was after all the center of Creation, the source from which all the realms drew their strength and sustenance from. Both a hope and an ambition, the heavens were what most people aspired to reach. That not even half made it there, was just another sad truth born of Odin’s strict decrees. 

Odin brought order to the chaos that Brahms and Hel would unleash if either one of the two were to take control of Creation. That was an unshakable belief so many held, the safeguarding of the realms, it’s prospering and health so dependent on the rigid and righteous rule of the chief God, Odin. No one knew what would happen if someone else were to take control, no one wanted to even think on it, so frightened of the world and it’s twisting under the rule of the likes of Hel and Brahms.

Odin was not perfect. Lenneth KNEW that. But he had always been the best choice, the only choice, to rule over Creation and it’s people. He did what he had to, even the things Lenneth could not truly hope to understand. This supposed alliance with Nifleheim was just one of them.

Her thoughts spiraling down one tangent after another, Lenneth could barely remember what had set them off THIS time. Something about the Valkyries and their lack of presence in Flenceburg. 

“I suppose we have been a rare sight in these parts.” She was grudging in that acknowledgment, having to bite at her tongue to keep from saying anything more. It didn’t stop the thought from forming, from Lenneth thinking on how difficult it would be for any of the Valkyrie to not want to strike down and execute the most corrupt and faithful to Hel’s cause. Even Lenneth, afflicted with an unwanted love coursing through her veins, and holding a loose knowledge that Odin himself WANTED this alliance, still found it difficult to be around a man as tainted with sin as Lezard appeared to be. She couldn’t imagine how her escort would have handled delivering her into his hands, nor be surprised at the thought of how quickly the Valkyrie who would have made up her honor guard, how quickly those women would have fled at the first chance given.

Certainly they wouldn’t have stayed long enough for the people of Flenceburg to get near, for any to even catch a glimpse of them. It was for their protection, and that of this nation’s, Odin not one to be pleased with the idea of any of his Valkyries reacting on instinct, and rampaging about killing all sinners and heretics that they might have come across, especially not when the God had been in the midst of securing an alliance with the biggest sinner of them all.

Lenneth’s sigh in response to her thoughts was misunderstood by Lezard. “It will take time for them to get used to you.”

Her lips pursed together as though she had tasted something foul. Lezard had noticed the soured expression, his own eyes showing a gentle amusement to it.

“You are the first Valkyrie to not only walk among us, but the first of your kind to be given as a bride to anyone who owes an allegiance to Hel. Of course they will be curious.”

“It doesn’t mean I have to LIKE their curiosity.” Lenneth retorted, surprised when Lezard agreed.

“That you don’t.” His lips quirked, but didn’t quite give over to a smile. “But do try for SOME tolerance. For the curiosity and the many questions you will have to endure.”

“Questions?”

He nodded. “You are a beautiful, intelligent woman. A former Goddess. The things you have seen, the life you have lived….some are more determined the others in their desire to….learn from you.”

“Like that one woman...I believe I heard you call her by the name Mystina?”

“Yes.” He seemed put upon then. “I will of course speak to her, to them all. They are in sore need of reminding to leave you alone and not pester you. Although some, like Mystina, will not let anyone or anything lessen her desire where you are concerned.”

“Desire?” Lenneth arched an eyebrow at him, confused by his choice in words. “And that is what?”

“Oh I am almost positive she means you no harm...” Lezard quickly said, and failed to reassure Lenenth. “But you do represent an opportunity to her. One she will be loathe to ignore.”

He suddenly looked around, as though remembering they were out in the middle of some corridor, apt to be seen and eavesdropped upon. Lezard then grimaced, and moved to reach for Lenneth’s hand. A hand she deftly maneuvered out of his way.

“Not here.” He said out loud. “There’s little to no privacy here.”

“All right. Lead and I shall follow.” Lenneth gestured for him to step ahead of her. Lezard hesitated anew, as though he was contemplating making a grab for her hand once again. Just the thought of it made Lenneth uneasy, both for the desire expressed, and the thought of what effect physical contact would have on a heart that was battling so strong an enchantment.

Lenneth vowed then and there to minimize as much physical contact as possible between her and Lezard Valeth. A clear head was needed, as well as a heart that wasn’t befuddled by love. The decision must have shown in her eyes, it and her new found determination getting the man to slowly nod and turn away from her. It felt like the most triumphant of victories, a well fought battle whose win had been hard earned.

“Careful now.” The man then advised. She wondered if he was really talking about the staircase, or if it was a comment in response to her bit of defiance when it came to not giving Lezard her hand. Either way, she made sure to not only hold up her skirts so as not to trip over them, but to get a firm grasp on the railing that wound it’s way to the bottom of the stairwell. 

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere where few if any will disturb us, and those that do, won’t be of any real consequence.” She wasn’t satisfied with that answer, anymore than she was keen on isolating herself to be alone with this Lezard.

“Does such a place even exist?” Lenneth wondered out loud.

“They are few and far between, but real enough they are.” They had progressed closer to the bottom of these steps, Lezard’s pace no longer so harried and hurried as it had been earlier. “In fact, there’s one not far from where we are now, that will be ideal for our chat.”

“Right….” They had reached the floor, and were now heading down it’s winding path of a corridor. They weren’t alone, there were more people, servants by the plain look of their garments, moving about. Many had heavy burdens in their arms, boxes and barrels, crates of fresh food and steins of wine. Those who didn’t carry nourishment and refreshment, moved with loads of fabric in their arms, laundry that would need tending to. There was even a few people on their hands and knees, scrubbing at spots on the floor, while others headed towards the stair case with what appeared to be ornate pieces of fancy adornments meant to decorate a room.

All of them were wide eyed and attentive when Lenneth passed by. Some even went so far as to stare at her in slack jawed wonder, and one woman had what appeared to be tears in her eyes. It all made Lenneth feel very uncomfortable, this shock and this awe, and especially those tears born of a mix of sorrow and joy. Some of these flabbergasted people seemed seconds away from prostrating themselves and genuflecting before her, Lenneth the tangible proof they had begun to doubt the existence of.

Bothered by it, by the effect she was having, Lenneth found herself stepping closer to Lezard. She immediately hated herself when the Goddess realized what she had just been doing, the Valkyrie knowing she was no damsel in distress to cower by or seek the protection of a man, of anyone. She was a warrior, of commander of legions, and her back stiffened with the pride of an accomplished tactician. She met the eyes of each person, quickly tasting of their energy, and coming away shaken when there were more innocents than not about this place. Lenneth simply didn’t understand the why of it, the how of why a nation known as hotbed of loyalist and Hel’s faithful, could have exist people who were free of all but the minor of sins.

So troubling were these innocents, that Lenneth couldn’t keep the frown from off her face. Were they all hostages? Slaves? Why were they not in Crell Monferaigne, or one of the other holy cities devoted to Odin’s rule? Why was this world not as black and white as Lenneth had been led to believe, the depraved and the damned, the sinners and seduced, those made corrupt from their many misdeeds, the ones who had abandoned their faith and Odin’s worship, were all that should have been left in a city like Flenceburg. Why instead was there this mingling of both sides, the damned working side by side with the unworthy but faithful? She did not know, Lenneth’s confusion and distress mounting, the woman disturbed by just how many relatively sin free people she was encountering. It even made her a bit angry, Lenneth wanting to yell at them, to bid them to pick up a weapon and fight for their God, rather than waste away their eternity as Hel’s victims.

She had been distracted again, Lezard suddenly catching at her arm. The tension did not leave Lenneth, if anything it grew worst at the touch, her eyes sparking with dismay and defiance, the woman reacting without thinking in an attempt to jerk free. His fingers curled almost painful about her, Lezard effortlessly pulling her with him through a doorway. The people about this place seemed none the wiser to what had almost happened, too busy, too consumed with their own private thoughts and sentiments that had been stirred up at the sight of the Valkyrie.

A clatter to the front of Lezard, drew Lenenth’s attention. A woman had just dropped a heavy burden, a sack of freshly picked vegetables that scattered across the floor. She didn’t even seem to realize it, too busy staring at Lezard and his bride to be. Others were following suit, their shock making them abandon their tasks at preparing the evening meal, so that the only sounds that could be heard was that of the fires crackling, and the meats roasting over them.

Lezard seemed to pay no heed to the reactions, making his purposeful way to a distant door. That door exited out into an enclosed space, a garden from the looks of it, but nothing to rival the landscaped beauty of Asgard.

“Here?” Lenneth inhaled deeply of the many different scents that made up the servant’s herb and vegetable garden.

“I don’t think Mystina and her group even KNOW that this place exists.” He let out a hoarse chuckle, Lezard seeming loathe to let go of Lenneth’s arm. She fixed her gaze upon the offending hand, staring at it with narrowed eyes as though that would force Lezard to play heed. When it didn’t, the woman jerked hard, nearly upsetting the balance of them both.

“It must seem strange...” Lezard then said, after he reluctantly took the hint and let go of her arm. “That someone like me, would have to hide in his own castle...”

“It doesn’t seem strange, so much as SAD.” Lenneth corrected. “Though I suppose such is the way of life among Hel’s people.”

“You mean among us vipers and backstabbers.” He didn’t quite grin. “You can say it. I won’t judge you for that truth.”

Only she wasn’t entirely sure it was a complete truth, not after spying the energy of so many innocents amid the servant class. Lenneth thus said nothing, instead just waiting for Lezard to finish one of the things they had begun conversing about out in the hall.

“I really will try to check Mystina’s behavior.” He then said. 

“Just WHAT is that opportunity she seeks where I am concerned?” Lenneth tried not to sneer. “I WON’T be her prey.”

“No one said anything about preying on you!” Lezard quickly protested. “Though I suppose with Mystina one can never know for sure...”

“That doesn’t exactly bolster confidence...” Lenneth’s tone was dry and droll now.

“Mystina is...complicated.” He settled on. “Sometimes I wonder what she is more of. Scholar or Mage….both compete as her passion. Ah I see by your look, you have hazarded a guess as to where this is going….”

“If she is so invested in learning..I suppose to her, I represent a fount of information.”

“You’ve lived through things that are only stories to us, fought in wars we’ve no real records of. Most of all, you know of the heavens….” Lezard explained. “That alone is worth its price in gold to her...”

“If it’s war that she wants, I can tell her plenty.” Lenneth’s tone was grim. “But if she thinks to use my knowledge to betray Odin and secure a win for her Queen….” She then grimaced. “Ah but I forget such things are in the past now...”

“The alliance…”

“Yes. The alliance.” Lenneth sighed. “Though I still think it best for Asgard’s secrets to remain it’s own. At least until Nifleheim has otherwise proven it’s worth...”

“You don’t trust in your King’s decision?” An unreadable look was in Lezard’s eyes. It left Lenneth wondering if he had honestly expected her to betray the people of Asgard, to tell their secrets to any and all who would listen. She’d never be so uncouth or that eager, Lenneth vowing that not even under the threat of torture would she reveal anything that could be seen and used as a weakness against Asgard and it’s people.

“It’s not up to me to decide if his decision was right or not.” Lenneth tried to deflect. “But even allied as we now are, Odin would not want me to play the fool and give away everything to you and your Queen.” She drifted away from him then, intent on some of the greenery before her. The Valkyrie’s fingers were careful and nimble, caressing the curling vine of one of the many things planted here.

“Still you’re unhappy with what he has decided...” It was clear Lezard wasn’t intent to drop this line of thought just yet. It made Lenneth fight not to clench hold of the vine and destroy it, her anger spiking at this man’s presumption.

“Of course I am not happy!” She growled, but wouldn’t look at him. “How could I be!?” Lenneth then demanded. “My sister’s soul is in jeapordy, the heavens are intent on aligning themselves with one of their WORST enemies, and I’m left to do nothing but fight against the love my king would CURSE me with!”

She couldn’t stop herself, couldn’t keep from crushing the vine. “I do not want to be here.” Lenneth informed him in a withering tone. Her regret and her anger was spiraling out of control, spiking stronger and stronger deep inside her as the two fought for dominance over her. In that moment there was room for nothing else, not even the love Odin’s enchantment tried to afflict her with.

The feelings and resentments bubbled up within her, the unfairness of it all hitting Lenneth harder than it had ever. She didn’t want to be reduced to whining, but it was all too much for her, cast out of Asgard, denied both her godhood and the right to avenge and fix what was happening still to her sister, Silmeria. Lezard was just the latest in a long line of offenses, Lenneth tired and angry and all but ready to scream.

“I can understand that.” She would not look at him, would not even deign his words with any kind of response. “You are in a new place, a new home….” Lezard continued. “One among many strangers. Your whole world has changed overnight, and continues to shock and surprise you. It’s no wonder you suffer, not when you’ve been left by your king to flounder until you adapt.”

Still abusing the crushed vine with her fingers’ harsh grip, Lenneth risked a sidelong glance at Lezard. “What if I am never able to adapt?” It was meant as a challenge, but came out as more of a sigh. “I am a warrior.” She reminded him. “I LIVED for the battle. For the thrill of blood and victory. Fighting isn’t just in my soul, it’s what I am….so tell me, Lezard, how am I to content myself to be nothing more than some man’s wife? To have nothing more be expected of me, save for my body to be the vessel in which to birth you, your children?”

“Lenneth!” That thread of anger that snapped out in Lezard’s voice shocked her into turning fully towards him. It afforded her a complete view of his expression, the passion that heated his eyes, the amethyst gleaming with a kind of mad fury. “You are SO much more than that! Than any of it! Do not ever doubt or undersell yourself ever again…!”

“It is the TRUTH!” Lenneth insisted. “Odin has mapped out my entire existence, be it on the battlefield or in YOUR BED! It’s by his decree that my fate has always been sealed!”

“I do not believe that!” He argued. “I refuse to accept that fate is so unchangeable! For you, for me, for anyone!” The man looked so enlivened, stepping towards her with a bold gesture and confidant words. “You, WE, can make our own!”

“Make my own...” For one second her voice held a wistful edge to it, and then Lenneth was letting loose with a scoffing sound. “How?” She demanded. “When my free will has been attempted to be stripped free from me? With that spell cast upon my heart to take all choice away from me!?”

“You’ve not given into that spell.” He pointed out. “You don’t love me….”

Not yet, were the words on the tip of her tongue, the unspoken truth she dared not speak out loud. It and those unwanted sentiments, Lenneth knowing there was a part of her that was already breaking from exhaustion, the near constant fight against Odin’s enchantment taking it’s toll. She was already so tired of it, of him, Lenneth just wanting a chance to to be by herself, in the vain hope that the magic would lessen it’s grip if there was enough distance between them. 

It couldn’t have been even a handful of hours since she had been kissed awake. Only a small fragment of time that felt like it’s own eternity, the battle waged inside her making every second extend for a tortuous amount of time. Nothing could soothe her, her anger and her horror the only way to somewhat staunch the effects of the spell. She chose to embrace anger, to purposefully pick a fight with him.

“And what of you!?” She demanded with narrowed eyes. “What would you do if I tried to seize a new fate for myself? One that did NOT include you!?”

It was almost laughable the way that he hesitated, the way that this Lezard tried to dance around in an attempt to evade answering the exact question. His eyes actually blinked in rapid succession, the man swallowing audibly, before recovering enough to speak. “I would hope that you would be amenable to a future with me.”

“I am not.” Lenneth insisted flatly.

Again that blink of his eyes. Was that some sort of defense mechanism, or a betraying tick? She just didn’t know, and Lezard was already rushing forward, words spilling out of him in an almost uncertain manner. “I don’t want to have to force you into anything that you don’t want.” He told her. “But...at least give me a chance….”

“A chance to do what!?” There was an undercurrent of suspicion in her that had reacted to those words, a disbelieving snort manifesting in her head.

“To change your mind. To COURT you.” He explained. Was that desperation coloring his expression now? Was he that frightened of Hel’s displeasure, as to show patience to his rebellious bride to be?

“Fear not, Lezard.” Her words were a half hearted reassurance. “I will not go against my King’s orders.” Regardless of how little she might truly understand them, Lenneth still holding out hope there was something more for her to do here, vain as she was beginning to believe that thought to be. “Besides.” She added with a wry attempt at a smile offered up to Lezard. “Wherever else could I go? Cast out of the Heavens and made mortal as I now am...I’ve neither the strength nor the things needed, the money to strike out on my own. I have nothing to my name, save the gown that I wear.”

“You think it would please me to hear your choice was based on that?” He scowled. “The idea of you staying simply because you feel dependent on my charity and kindness...”

“I stay because I have been given an order by my King.” Lenneth corrected him. “I will not do him or myself such dishonor, no matter how much I find myself not agreeing with the punishment I have been given.”

He still didn’t look very happy. “I hope that in time, you can come to look upon me as something other than as your punishment for what has happened to your sister…”

 

It stung, his words, the raw honesty of his unwittingly hurtful statement. It sparked to life new depths to her anguish and despair, Lenneth closing her eyes but unable to shut out her mind. Or the memory of her sister’s near lifeless body in the undead king’s arms.

“The fact remains that you ARE.” Lenneth snapped her eyes open with that. She couldn’t disguise the pain shining in her blue eyes, or the naked grief of her expression. “By Odin’s own words, did he damn you as THAT. I’ll never be able to NOT think of you as that, so long as I retain my sense of self. My sense of self, and my control over my heart’s own choices.” Such a sad twist of her lips accompanied those words. “I suppose we will soon learn just which is stronger. My heart, or Odin’s magic….”

“That damn Odin---” He seemed to think twice on his words. “Your King does us BOTH a disservice, and only furthers a suffering that is immense enough on it’s own without his magic.”

“It is no fault of Odin’s!” Lenneth protested. “That magic SHOULD have made me love you. I am the one you need blame for all this. If I was less desperate or less stubborn, maybe then I wouldn’t have the strength needed to fight of the worst of the enchantment.” He seemed to be considering her words. “It must be a shock to you...” The Goddess added. “Expecting to awaken a Valkyrie who would not only be willing, but happy to become a loving and obedient wife.” A faint smile then, Lenneth able to find the amusement in his situation, even if she could not actually laugh over it. “When I am NONE of those things.”

“You do present me with a challenge.” Lezard admitted. “As well as one to yourself….”

“It’s all I have left….” Lenneth stated, meaning the fight against the enchantment placed on her.

“I’m not so sure. There is so much more life has to offer, that I have to offer, if you would just open yourself up to the possibility, and give yourself over to...to learning to love me of your own free will….”

The Valkyrie didn’t think it possible. Even if Lenneth did somehow have a choice, she knew that she could never choose to fall in love with a man like Lezard. A man whose soul was made foul with the weight and depth of his sins. 

There was also the very real truth of her sister’s situation, Lenneth’s concern for Silmeria such, that even affected by Odin’s magic, the woman couldn’t forget or forgive what had happened. The fault that she felt, the mad grief and wild desperation all still within her, playing buffet against the enchantment. Such was her need to right the wrongs done to her sister, that Lenneth knew for a fact that love would never enter the equation without Odin’s magic as it’s bolster.

These hard truths alive in her head, in her belabored heart, the love that she fought against, that she was afflicted with, still kept her from outright crushing him. At least on that point, Lenneth turning away as though to hide her troubled expression from the man.

“Wouldn’t our marriage be better for it?” Lezard then asked. “Wouldn’t WE be better?”

It was a surprising sentiment, the most whimsical of hopes, that innocent seeming desire such that the Goddess wouldn’t have attributed the having of it to a man, a sinner, like Lezard. 

“Love...” It wasn’t a rebuff of his words, that quiet murmur that she voiced. Her parents had once had had a form of love, distant though that memory now was. A pure and freely given affection that came from both the man and the woman, that husband and wife friends as well as lovers, the two a keeper of each other’s laughter and secrets. It had been a love great enough to have conceived Lenneth and her two sisters, the pain and the sorrow of a life stolen from the battlefield, forgotten to the joy of a loving man and family.

All that Lenneth knew of love, she had learned from her mother, from their family’s interaction with each other. The love that she had felt for them, that she still felt for both her sisters, to such a degree that the Goddess knew her heart had had the capacity for it, long before Odin had tried to curse her with it. But just as she had, and could love, Lenneth realized, the distant memories of her parents, of her father in particular, colored her views on just what kind of man would be WORTHY of a Valkyrie. 

Lezard Valeth was as far removed from that ideal as one could get, his sins and his allegiance to the underworld’s queen, the very taint on his soul, all doing their damage. It mattered not what he might be like as a person, how seemingly affable or how charming, he and his expressed sentiment were. They all rode on a desire, a hope that had no basis of a true chance, his existence tolerated only because Lenneth had had no choice.

Aware of and resentful of her lack of it, that spiteful part of her that tried to be tempered by Odin’s magic, rose up inside her. It spit out in words, the hurtful truths that were alive as a part of her. “I would NEVER choose to fall in love with you, with anyone, whose soul could be so corrupt.”

She had glanced at him then to see the full extent of her words’ assault on Lezard. His eyes were beyond startled, Lenneth piercing him with a grim look of her own. “Does that surprise you? That I can still sense the sin that lays heavy on you?” His lips parted on a hoarse sound that bore no resemblance to any known word. “It speaks to me. They all do….”

“And...and what exactly does it say?” Lezard appeared to be bracing himself, as though he knew the damage his soul and her words could do.

“That yours is the blackest of them all.”

“Then you know….” He whispered, ashen faced and shaken.

“I know not nearly enough!” Her agitation had snapped, the woman all but ranting now. “Not of the why, not of the how anyone could corrupt their souls to that point. I don’t understand, and I doubt Odin does either, for how else could my king have allowed Hel to give me to you!” The anger trembled inside her, all of it and Lenneth’s bewildered hurt and betrayal given a voice at long last. “My ONE failure was not so great as to have merited THIS!”

He more than flinched in place, Lezard reeling as though she slapped him.

“Do I not suffer ENOUGH!?” The Valkyrie wanted to then know. “Denied all right to avenge my sister, to go after her, to save Silmeria’s very soul from the clutches of the undead!?” Her eyes surely flashed then, Lenneth advancing on Lezard with every next word spoken. “Stripped of my divinity, my friends, my people, with no real way to know what is happening with EITHER of my sisters. You think I can be happy like this? That I can learn to love you of my own free will!? When I don’t even LIKE you!? When your very soul screams at me for the affront to existence that it is!?” She was breathing heavily with that, Lenneth panting with her anger, her body having crowded against Lezard, invading his personal space with a threat and an aggression that was all pure Valkyrie.

“I’m….” He audibly swallowed. “I am sorry...”

“Your sorry is NOT good enough!” Lenneth snarled in his face. In the moment she felt none of it, none of Odin’s magic, the enchantment swallowed up whole by her anger and rage over the situation they were both in. She didn’t know if she was at all being fair to Lezard, the one time Goddess didn’t think she even CARED. “Your sorry won’t save my sister!”

The Valkyrie felt exhausted then, the mortality that had been forced on her, catching up with her. She swayed unsteadily on her feet, breathed harder for the effort of staying upright. “I don’t even know WHAT you are.” Her tone came out broken, Lenneth now shying away from Lezard. From the touch that she expected him to give. That he made no solicitations, no attempt to reach out and steady her this time, wasn’t a comfort. Nothing was, Lenneth bereft, lost and nearly to the point of tears, set on alienating herself from the one person she could not afford to lose.

“Just WHAT are you?” She tried again. “To me, to Hel, to the magic inside you? Why does your soul cry out to me so!?”

“I am of Hel’s inner circle.”

Lenneth couldn’t stop the gasp, the protest that rose up inside her. It was worst than she could have thought, Lezard so enmeshed with the undeworld and it’s goddess, as to be a confidante!

“I have her ear, and her proxy.” Lezard continued. “I RULE Flenceburg in her stead. It is by her grace and her judgment that I have anything of everything. This castle, these people, my position….even the bride that I would take.”

“What do you do, what have you done in her name?” That whispered out question, Lenneth wasn’t sure if she really wanted the answer. The Valkyrie got it all the same, Lezard’s own look bitter as he told her that he had done anything, and everything that his Queen had ever asked of him.

“Why? How!?” Her distress plaintive in her voice, disturbed the stark quiet of the garden with it’s volume. 

“Why what?” He countered. “Why would I choose this, why would I play loyal lap dog to the Queen of the damned?” Lenneth was barely moving her head, the terse nod bidding Lezard to continue. “How could I NOT?” He then asked her. “Do you think I had any more choice than you did!?”

“I was born in one of Hel’s holdings. How long do you think it was before her faithful alerted her to a prospect as great in magic as I had been showing the potential of?” It was a rhetorical question, Lezard expecting no real answer from Lenneth. “You think she would pass up on the possibility presented before her? On ANY opportunity she might come across? She makes use of what falls into her grasp, much like your King does.”

She couldn’t muster up the proper outrage, couldn’t protest that Odin and Hel were not similar in that regard. Anymore than she could protest the fact that as soon as possible, Odin had had a sword put in Lenneth’s hand.

“I NEVER had a choice.” Lezard said. “Not with my life, and not with my studies. Any and all magic that was mine to command, anything I showed the slightest skill at, she demanded I learn. All in order to utilize better use of me. I was nurtured and I was groomed, forced to become what she had need of.”

“Odin calls you and your kind Valkryie. But did you know there is a word for one such as I? A name for the most powerful of Hel’s people?” She flinched with the question, Lezard’s hand raising not to strike her, but to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose. 

The word already known inside her, Lenneth tasted both it’s shaping on his tongue, and the horror that it brought with it. Necromancer, her world reeling about, her legs feelings so weak. A Necromancer was before her, a creature long thought to have been made extinct by Odin’s very own. The Valkyrie had been singled minded in their determination, hunting this brand of human to extinction thousands of years ago. Lezard’s claim, his very existence, should have been impossible. Yet his soul was black enough, unusual enough, that Lenneth knew his words were no idle boast.

“Does Odin know?” But how could he NOT. How could anyone NOT know, once they had encountered him, once they had felt a taste of the power within Lezard’s soul. Lenneth hated him then, even as the magic she had been cursed with, softened her heart with it’s manufactured love. 

Love trying to wind a choke hold on her heart and it’s emotions, Lenneth wondered how Odin could suffer a presence like Lezard to live. It was disturbing, Lezard an affront to creation, a blasphemy even Odin should not overlook. Why then was she here? Why was Lenneth expected to marry, to love, to make babies with a man whose blood line should be stamped out!?

“I disgust you.” His face was an emotionless mask, not betraying any of what he now felt.

“How could you not?” Lenneth asked him. Yet the curse was still there, it’s love fighting against Lenneth’s rightful sense of loathing. “If not for Odin’s magic, you’d be dead already. Dead by my hand. That is how much I am unable to suffer your continued existence.”

“I thought that magic wrong.” It was a surprising admission grated out. “I didn’t approve of it or Odin’s decision to use it on you. But if that is the only thing that gives me a chance with you...” She wasn’t surprised to learn just how opportunistic Lezard could be, the woman backing away from him then on unstable legs.

“I’ll fight it and you.” She warned him.

“I’d expect no less.”His eyes gleamed with cold calculation. “I had wanted to court you the proper way. I still do...”

There was nothing proper about it, about any of this and she told him that. His smile was that of a sad slant, a tired bitterness leaking into his expression. Lenneth suspected her own visage mirrored that emotion of his, her mind still reeling with shock and horror. She wasn’t able to think, to feel past those emotions. In fact it would be several hours later, before the Goddess would realize just how all consuming these revelations had truly been. How powerful, Lenneth’s grief over Silmeria, briefly forgotten, the Valkyrie lost to her own self pity and doubts.

 

To Be Continued

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 7/06/2018 Updated with a completely overhauled chapter. Several thousand words added to the over all tally. I know, I know, I have become the slowest writer in the world. @_@ Actually had the first three pages, and a quarter of the fourth page written since October….I have had writer’s block so hard, and had so much trouble with this chapter. For the most part I like it, except for like the last three pages. I’m glad to have this chapter over and done with, and I hope I don’t feel the need to keep on tinkering with it….still stressing over the last few pages.,,,,argh….
> 
>  
> 
> 7/07/2018 Woke up and updated from page 20 to 24. I really didn’t like the last few pages, and upon rereading them, I saw how tired I was, cause they read almost word for word like the original version of eight. I have since changed it, and I like it much better this way. 
> 
> \----Michelle


	9. Chapter 9

She reminded him of sunshine, with that unruly mass of golden curls, and that skin marked with a healthy, bronze kiss, Silmeria just as dazzling, just as blinding, as a bright summer’s day. She wasn’t as warm as one though, both her mood and her emotions a cool contrast to the heat that Brahms knew for certain that the young woman was capable of. He had after all just had a taste of it, the passion and the fury, the anger blazing to hot life inside her. The Valkyrie had been a volatile hotbed of emotions, all of it exploding outwards in an attack that STILL left the vampire reeling astonished.

Brahms had a good reason for THAT shock as well. No fledgling made, by his fangs, or by that of another, had ever come out of the transformation and held such immediate strength and such speed. Certainly no newly made vampire should have ever been able to hope to challenge their sire so soon. Yet Silmeria had done exactly that, the ravaged skin of the man’s neck still stinging with a sharp ache as his natural borne magic sought to stitch together the torn remnants of his throat. That pain was an eye opener, a reminder to be wary, Silmeria something more than the Goddess she had once been, and the vampire she now was. What that something was, Brahms wasn’t entirely sure, his spirited little bride the first woman of divine blood to have ever been gifted with this change.

Not that Silmeria was of mind to appreciate it as such. Not for the blessing that it was, or for the freedom that it now afforded her. The world had been opened up to her, Creation itself there to explore with new eyes if she would only just use them. He was impatient to share in that moment, to be there for the discoveries that she would make, the truth as she would someday soon know it. Most of all, Brahms wanted to be there to catch her, to support Silmeria as the world as she had known it, came crumbling apart around her. In that moment then would they truly be joined, by the blood and it’s truth, the Lord of the Undead one step closer to finally having the Valkyrie for his own.

He had already been so close. THEY both had been, Brahms stifling a sound that was both a groan of frustration and that of a sexual excitement. He had to make a very real effort not to curl his claws tighter about his newly made bride’s arms, to not crowd her any more than had already been done. Yet it was almost impossible to stop, to control himself, the Lord of the Undead practically wanting to rub up against his bride’s body, and revel in that closeness. 

It would not have been appreciated, not in Silmeria’s current frame of mind. More disturbed than anything, and fighting to hide the unease that colored her expression still, the young woman was glaring, her reflection super imposed on the glass, overshadowed by his bulk, and lit up by the moon’s light. To an outside observer, all of her attention was focused, riveted in place to the rune that had been carved into the window’s pane. To the magic meant to keep her trapped. The tension of her body belied that, Silmeria unable to help but react to Brahms’ nearness, to the blood that was still fresh on his skin.

Her body wound tight like the string of a bow, there was a slight trembling to her delicate frame that had nothing to do with fear, and everything to do with the gnawing hunger inside her. The blood was calling to her, HIS blood, the young Valkyrie’s appetite such that there was little left in this world that would satisfy. Brahms would have been glad to have indulged her, to soothe the craving of both the blood and the flesh, his own body suppressing a shudder as an all too vivid image struck to life in his mind. That of two beings entwined, Silmeria’s light to Brahms’ dark, both their bodies gleaming, skin slick with blood, sweat and arousal. 

He wanted that. He wanted HER, Brahms at last finding an appetite for something that went beyond the blood, and beyond any personal vendetta that he has held. This desire was such that it might never be sated, Brahms wanting Silmeria with the fierceness of his soul. His entire being resonated with it, his every sense attuned to her, Brahms lived, breathed, and was that unrequited longing personified. Never had he wanted something this much, driven to such a degree that the vampire was distracted from his own goals and ambitions. From the wrongs he must right. The man didn’t so much abandon his duty, as put it aside for the moment, something far sweeter than vengeance at hand. So what if it was a little selfish, a little self serving. He had earned this, the right to see to his own needs and desires, to secure his own bit of happiness amid the never ending torment that had colored Brahms’ long lived life.

He wasn’t without a conscience. Brahms was aware of just how the results of this pursuit of his happiness was affecting others. How it was affecting Silmeria in particular, the young woman angry, confused, and most of all HURT. He didn’t try to minimize the pain he had inadvertently helped cause her, the mental and physical anguish she had endured, that she in part still lived with. Nor did he entirely try to shift the blame, Brahms understanding that it had been because of his initial orders, that his vampires had come so close to nearly killing the blonde haired Goddess. That that hadn’t been his aim, didn’t much matter, Brahms angry and ashamed, cursing himself and cursing them too. For the wounds that had been inflicted, the damage that had been done, Silmeria’s body all but broken completely, the young Valkyrie so thoroughly devastated that she would have lived out her mortality in such never ending pain.

There was no sign of that pain now, at least not on the physical level. Brahms’ bite had seen to that, the change he had forced upon her as much a blessing as she might think it a curse. The wounds that had plagued her, the damage that Silmeria might never have otherwise recovered from, GONE. There wouldn’t even be any scars, her body healing over. Silmeria would never need worry again, the only long term effects that of the memories that might haunt her. He didn’t just mean of the attack, or the suffering that had followed, but all of it, the life as she had known it, the sisters that were now lost to her. Even perhaps the many misdeeds that Brahms himself had done in Silmeria’s name. The people he had had killed, the causalities that bloodied things between them, Brahms and his soldiers having had to wipe out nearly all of the young Valkyrie’s escort.

There hadn’t been an outright malice to that tact. From a strictly strategic stand point, it had even been necessary. A message had needed to be sent, but more than that, a pursuit at that time could not be tolerated. It still couldn’t, though Brahms knew that it would eventually be coming. It simply went against Odin’s nature, the God unable to let stand what he would perceive to be the ultimate in insults. Funny that, how the man could let his Valkyries fight and be killed in his name, but not outright let them be stolen. He really did see them as nothing more than his puppets, an extension of his wrath, and the reward which he dangled before his loyal faithful. Silmeria had almost been both, though she had never quite made it into Lord Rufus of Alfeim’s bed. It still made Brahms mad with a wildly insane jealousy, the thought of that elf embracing the pretty Valkyrie.

Rufus would have never made Silmeria happy. Never mind that the elf’s personality wasn’t a good fit for a firebrand like Silmeria, the Valkyrie’s own debilitating injuries would have been the nails in the coffin of their romance. Hurt as she had been, the golden haired female would never have been able to live out her mortality with the pain put aside, her body and mind broken, wracked with so immense a suffering that even breathing had to have been torture. Such had been the devastation done to Silmeria’s body, that the marriage should never have even been considered. That it had been, was just more emphasis on how cruel and self serving Odin could be, the man not caring for anything, anyone, that he couldn’t somehow make use of.

He really was unfit to rule over Creation. If only more were able to realize it, maybe then more would have rallied behind Brahms’ cause. Unfortunately Odin had been careful with that as well, manipulating things, people and truths, even memories, so that the true villain in this had been lost. How that had been done exactly, Brahms himself didn’t know, but then Odin had seen to a lot of things that the vampire hadn’t thought was even possible. Brahms supposed desperation made for an excellent motivation, and the thought came with a bitter tint to it. Because greed and ambition also went hand in hand with that desperation, and so much had been personally lost as a result of Odin’s grab for power. The people and the relationships twisted, even outright destroyed, the God suffering few if any to know the real truth.

Those few who did, had survived by the skin of their teeth. They were reviled as a result, hated and hunted, and feared by so many. It wasn’t fair, and it wasn’t right, and Brahms was tired of being persecuted. For the truth as he knew it, for the burden it placed on him, and for the blood it tainted inside him. For the pain that had resulted, Brahms unable to share this aspect of himself with any one, not even that of his own people. In a growing kingdom of vampires, the truth had kept him separate from his own kind. He ruled but was alone, isolated by his own choice, by his own fear of loss. It had long been like this, the stinging experiences of his past, having conditioned Brahms to be beyond wary. 

His caution had kept so many from being sacrificed to the truth. That same caution would get him nowhere with Silmeria, and it would not protect her in the least. There was now a target on her back, Odin ready to kill on just the chance of what the woman might now know. The world’s truth was simply that powerful, the King of all Creation made frightened by it. That fear would have him lashing out, the entire might of the Heavens brought down to bear on the young vampire’s neck. She’d not stand a real chance of surviving it unprepared, the truth needed to give self righteous fuel to Silmeria’s own sense of wrong and right. 

The truth was the tipping point, and without it, Silmeria might not fight for her right to exist as she now was. For that reason alone should he want her to feed, Brahms’ blood the key to the young woman’s start towards acceptance. Of what she was, and of what he had done, ALL of it, Brahms knowing that there was a great many things that Silmeria would have to forgive. He almost felt ashamed then, because in his own way, Brahms had at times been as relentless and ruthless as Odin had been. Both by necessity, and sometimes by choice, a clawing desperation in him, The Lord of the Undead fighting for the right to so much. The right to exist, the rights of his own kingdom, and now even the right to love. 

Each had sparked it’s own separate flame inside him, that desperate fire only burning hotter for each and every thing that Brahms has had to fight for. None might blaze an inferno more, than that of his newest desire, that love that he had struggled against for so long. He could admit to it now, could recognize that the feelings that the vampire had for Silmeria, was something more than just a casual lust for her body, or that of her blood. He craved the woman that she was, the personality inside her, that tempestuous soul that was so uniquely Silmeria’s, the woman’s spirit unable to truly be stifled by Odin and his deceits. That first glimpse in her eyes, hadn’t been the birth of his love, but that of his interest, Brahms curious about the young Goddess. About the Valkyrie whose eyes had been a mirror to his own tired frustrations, both sick of the war, and it’s endless cycle of death and devastation. 

Silmeria had been an anomaly, a Valkyrie that no longer lived for the battle. Impossible that, the odds of ANY Valkyrie balking at that purpose, that sacred duty the whole reason for their existence. They had all lived, breathed, and been defined by it, each Goddess very much an extension of Odin’s will, his judgment and his law, the balance of the God’s Creation upheld, protected and enforced by the Valkyries. There had been no questions, no doubts, the Valkyries loyal to a fault, those fierce battle maidens throwing away their lives for their King. Silmeria should have been no different, her entire life pledge to the battle, no time or interest for an identity of her own to truly take shape.

It still had. Somehow, miraculously, and against all odds, the seeds of it had sprouted in her soul. Manifesting first as the love that she has held for her sisters, for the sense of family and closeness that Silmeria has shared with Lenneth in particular. There was a warmth there, a sense of belonging, a friendship that went beyond mere kinship, It had bonded them together, the love and loyalty to family something MORE than that of what they supposedly owed their king. That devotion, so giving and so innocent, so direct a contrast to Odin’s own selfishness, had helped nurture to life parts of Silmeria that should have remained numb. She had grown tired of the war, but more than that, she had begun to question the point of it. 

Such doubts born in the midst of battle had never come away with an answer that could satisfy. If anything, it had only led to more doubts and insecurities, Silmeria not stopping at just questioning the war, and Odin but herself as well. It had in fact been an existential crisis, Silmeria wondering what her true purpose was in the grand scheme of things. Whatever answer Odin or the other Valkyries would have given her, had not been enough, Silmeria having begun to want MORE. 

It was with those first inclinations of wants in her heart, that Brahms had chanced upon Silmeria. A sympathy had been borne in response, a kind of pity that still wouldn’t have had him spare her. His claws had actually been on her throat, stayed only by his attempt to understand her. That was the start of his desire, the first sparks of a curiosity that would ultimately drive an obsession. It hadn’t started out as love, it hadn’t even been that of lust, Brahms simply wanting to better know the enemy who had confused him. Who had confused herself, Silmeria’s eyes the windows to a soul that had been haunted. 

That glimpse of it, had haunted Brahms in turn, each bit of knowledge gleaned, giving shape to a personality, to a woman worth knowing. With every fact established, Silmeria had become more real to him, a person and not a thing, something more than one of Odin’s loyal puppets. She was no longer just the God’s soldier, no longer just another Valkyrie to be killed, Silmeria a sister, a friend, a dreamer and a lover. Her life had meaning, and it had the potential for so much more than that of the battle, Brahms having wanted her to realize it too. To do more than just think on it, but to do, the curiosity that he had started out with, transforming into an infatuation, a kind of like where this particular Valkyrie was concerned. Such a feeling would only grow stronger with every stolen encounter, more than a century of moments to build upon, and accept, a one sided love blooming, Brahms helpless to resist it, and to resist HER.

Caught by that love, by the unexpected surprise of it, there had been no real defense against it. Not against it, and not against her, Brahms made mad by his desire. By his need for the Valkyrie, the vampire’s relentless tact a ruthless attempt at courting her. What she couldn’t or wouldn’t give him, he had then simply tried to take, death and devastation resulting in it’s wake, Silmeria herself nearly destroyed in the process. It had only taken a moment, a split second in which to have happened, the vampire elite that had been dispatched to capture the Goddess, losing control. Their patience had been tested, their tempers fraying apart, the volatile emotions boiling over into a blood lust that had nearly been Silmeria’s complete undoing. If not for the arrival of her sister, if not for the Valkyrie Hrist’s timely intervention, the young Goddess would have been killed. That would have been beyond intolerable, Brahms himself devastated from just the thought of her injuries. The thought of her pain, the way she had all but been mangled, had resulted in Brahms exacting a swift retribution against those who had failed him. It didn’t matter their reasons, those claims that the Valkyrie herself had driven them to it, Brahms felt that such an elite class of warriors should have handled things better. 

The blame that bloodied their fangs, didn’t keep from dirtying Brahms’ own. There was a dozen things that he could have done differently, Brahms feeling that he should have been there to oversee personally Silmeria’s extraction from the battlefield. Why had he let himself be convinced of otherwise, why had he let the importance of the mission be delegated to a bunch of sorry nobodies, Brahms having overestimated their capabilities, and having underestimated hers, Silmeria’s open defiance, her indomitable spirit, and that refusal to not go down without a fight. Surrender hadn’t been a thought in her head, Silmeria rebelling, struggling against fate, against their shared destiny, the eternity that they had been meant to live out together. She had in fact been running scared, Brahms sure of it, Silmeria panicking, fighting him and fighting her feelings. Those conflicted, complex assortment of emotions, the Vampire King certain he hadn’t imagined it. The spark that had existed between them, that Silmeria herself had felt, an attraction there, the Valkyrie unable to deny that she was as drawn to Brahms as he was to her.

It hadn’t been love for the Valkyrie, but the basis for it was there. The grudging respect, their mutual admiration of one another, Silmeria aware of Brahms’ on a physical level. It had awakened the woman inside her, desire and it’s many potent realizations, both empowering the Goddess and leaving her to feel helpless. Of her own burgeoning femininity, some primal part of Silmeria knowing that she SHOULD be afraid. Terrified even, of just what the vampire wanted of her. It was a woman’s innate fear that had been birthed in part inside her, Silmeria’s own vulnerabilities where her body was concerned. The reactions that she had had little control over, her heart racing just a little bit faster each time Brahms had drawn near. He hadn’t helped matters, pushing Silmeria to her limits and pass, each stolen encounter going just a little bit further.

With every touch taken, every word spoken, every look shared, Brahms had forced the impression upon her. That of the man that he was, and not the monster that she had been led to believe. Her world had distorted as a result, more cracks appearing in the rigid beliefs Odin would have the Valkyries adhere to, Silmeria starting to question more and more the right and the wrong of it. Her sword arm had been hesitated, the woman no longer able to effectively fight against the vampire king. Soon she had all but stopped trying, Brahms not a friend, but neither had he been her true enemy.

The encounters between them had changed then, their fighting not one of physicality, but more of a vocal sense. The vampire had challenged her beliefs, her way of thinking, and Silmeria in turn had fought him, a sharp and tart tongue her weapon of choice. For every doubt that had her questioning things, for every second guessing that Silmeria had done, the Valkyrie had lobbed insults and accusations, Creation’s own brand of hard truths. He hadn’t been able to deny them all, the blood such that it wasn’t so much a temptation as a necessity, Brahms and his own kind needing it to survive. They had manipulated, seduced, even outright killed for it, that crimson vitality the key to both the body’s well being and that of the mind. There was strength in the blood, and there was sanity, the vampires able to think and to feel as a result. It transformed them into something more than just animal, made them more than just monsters to be feared. It did in effect, give them their heart, and it gave them their soul, the vampires undead creatures that were able to love, laugh, and feel. 

It made them both predator and prey, painted them both the victim and villain of Creation. It left them straddling both sides of right and wrong, the vampires unable to be colored so rigid a black or a white, the race as a whole neither wholly good but neither wholly evil. They were a people first and foremost, a nation of individuals persecuted as a whole. The most basic of rights denied them, the vampires have had to carve their own path in Creation. The peace afforded the other races in the nine realms, the life and the home those people all took for granted, all that which the vampires have had to fight for. Everything that they had, and everything that they could be, each facet of their existence has been a struggle for a bit of understanding and tolerance. 

Almost anything would have been better than what the vampires actually got. The fear and the loathing, the panic and paranoia, the nine realms united in their misplaced hatred. It was nothing new, those repulsed feelings, and yet it bothered him all the same, the way that things were, and the way that they should have been. The what ifs and could have been alive in his heart, Brahms battled for just the chance of them. For the life that could be lived, for the peace that could be found, and most of all for the love and understanding that was nearly within his grasp. The woman, Silmeria, that he placed so much of his heart’s hopes and expectations on. She was a sliver of sunlight in a world that had gone all dark, the Valkyrie representing the chance of so much when it came to ending Brahms’ own loneliness. The friend that she could be, the lover and the conspirator, the confidant and the equal. With Silmeria Brahms would share it all, all his truth’s secrets exposed, his heart and his soul laid bared to her if she would only just feed. He was desperate for it, for her, for the feel of delicate fangs sinking into his flesh. The shared intimacy of the feeding, Brahms having spent a whole millennia without that particular ecstasy. 

It had been through his own choice, his own decision, the truth in his blood too potent and powerful a secret to be shared. Brahms had protected it, and he had protected them, but most of all, the lord of the undead had protected himself, the vampire unable to bear the guilt and the burden of such needless a massacre. The truth in his blood had always been a guaranteed death sentence. It still in part was, but now even more so, Odin ready to kill on just the chance of it, Silmeria herself in danger, damned for the blood either way.

It was a fact that the Valkyries would be coming, that the war itself would invade the shores of the vampires’ home. By taking Silmeria, Brahms had endangered the island, the one and only place that the undead could lay claim to. His people were not happy, not with Brahms’ actions, and not with the one he would make their queen. There was a forgiveness that needed to be earned, a respect that Silmeria herself would have to command, their people, the vampires, a hard lot when it came to letting go, the Valkyrie herself personally responsible for the whole sale slaughter of so many of the undead. It mattered not that she had been misguided, that Silmeria had acted on the belief that she was doing a righteous work. She had killed, loved ones forever torn apart, their blood and their tears coating her hands.

Marked by it, Silmeria already had enemies among the vampires. Brahms could and would protect her from the worst of it, but there was only so much he could do, when it came to his own people accepting Silmeria as one of their own. The woman feeding would be a step in the right direction, the first true sign of Silmeria embracing her new reality. That of the life of a vampire, the highs and the lows, Silmeria ready to take up the mantle, the fight and their cause, overseeing and protecting what was now HERS. There’d be no greater champion then she, Silmeria guided by the truths that Brahms’ blood would give her, the rights and the many wrongs done them. He imagined the outrage that would fill her, the fury that would drive her, Silmeria’s passion boiling over to make the woman the most protective Queen that Brahms could have ever gifted his people with. 

Such a thought filled him with unimaginable joy, Silmeria his equal when it came to the heart. Hers was a passion to match his own, that indomitable spirit and the desire all lighting a fire within her. She was brilliance personified, the one time Goddess made all the more glorious by her transformation. How much more perfect would she become, how much more would she be, when she let go and freed herself from the last of her many inhibitions?

Without even realizing it, he had smiled, an outright grin spreading open his lips. There was teeth in that expression, his fangs noticeably lengthened, Brahms’ desires manifesting in a show of his complete lack of control. It wasn’t just those teeth that had betrayed him, the hunger an expression of his soul’s desire seeping into his eyes. He positively smoldered with it, the need and the longing intent on her, the vampire focused on the woman who dominated his heart. 

“Stop it.” Her reflection on the window’s glass, glared up at him. The blue of her eyes was angry, an iridescent gleam of an open defiance sparking in her expression. It couldn’t distract from the way that she trembled, that slight tremor of her body against his screaming of Silmeria’s unease.

For one second, he was too focused on the feel of it, on the sensation of her soft and supple frame quivering in his grasp. It made his fangs ACHE, the desire breathing out of him, Brahms feeling as though he was spiraling out of control. Gods how he wanted her, as a man and as a vampire, her blood and her body calling to him, Brahms fiercely lusting. It was stronger than any he had ever, this heady sensation a million times more powerful than the hunger that had filled him, Brahms reacting to his bride like a fledgling who has scented his first meal.

It was NOT her blood that was calling to him now. It was her lips, that sweet pouting dismay, that stern disapproval on her face, Silmeria starting to struggle, and that was BEFORE he spun her around to face him. There was that sharp gasp of sound, her mouth agape with it, Silmeria almost stunned into inaction. In that split second of indecision, he had hauled her off balance, maintaining the grip on her arm, and now on her hair, Brahms intent on claiming so thoroughly a kiss.

She made a sound, more a hiss than anything, that breath of hers mingling with his, their lips just this close to actually touching when it happened. Her hand, shoving HIM off balance, that forceful display of her power catching the man by surprise. If THAT hadn’t made him stumble, the back of her hand then made sure of it, Silmeria striking Brahms hard across the cheek. It was enough to turn his head to the side, rhyme and reason returned to him, the desire still there but held in check by his own shock. Brahms didn’t know what bothered him more, the kiss that hadn’t happen, or the slap that had, his own gaze narrowed. There was a sullen shade to the crimson color of his eyes, Brahms not so much angry as he was disappointed, insane as it was.

“How dare you!” She spat out at him, seeming to shake all the more violently with her upset. She was beautiful even then, those blue eyes angry, her own teeth flashing with every word that snarled out of her. It was a provocative sight, her fangs showing with every word spoken. Those delicate looking incisors, their sharp tips gleaming, Silmeria unable to control the length of them. It was the same with her hands, Silmeria’s nails having shifted into clawed form, and the woman hadn’t the clue how to change them back to what passed for normal.

It was a telling sign of her upset, of the emotional turbulence that swirled to uneasy life inside her. Vampires were a passion driven race, hungers, desires, feelings all magnified in strength. The effect of it was intoxicating, a heady rush of exhilaration that could be just as pleasant as it was disturbing to a newly made fledgling. Brahms could only imagine it was a million times worse for a Valkyrie, for a woman who had only begun to discover what it might mean to actually live. A Goddess who was used to having a near rigid control over her emotional state, now given over to every strong spike and surge of feeling, good or bad. It was no wonder that Silmeria couldn’t calm down, her body betrayed by the new and unfathomable, the thoughts and the urges she might never have had before. It went beyond blood, that crazed desperation competing with the anger that boiled over but was unable to swallow up one irrefutable fact. That it felt GOOD, her body whole and healed, Brahms wondering if gratitude had at all bubbled up inside Silmeria. If it had, the woman had quickly squashed it down, too focused on feeling too much of everything else.

Brahms could relate, a faint heat creeping into his skin. His own feelings were off balanced, his hungers and desires out of control, the vibrant vitality of his newly made bride making Brahms forget himself. It left him little better than a fledgling, Brahms having to fight to not act on every thought and desire, the seductive pull of it an uphill battle, Brahms barely able to resist Silmeria. She tested his control, made both his fangs and heart ache, the vampire wanting to eat up every last drop of her, her blood and her body, Brahms lusting with the desire to claim his bride in all ways that would matter. 

That heated intent showed in his expression, the way the crimson of his eyes was so dark and so burning, and focused entirely on her. He wouldn’t apologize for it, for ANY of it, the man unashamed, his feelings and his desires just as right as they were real. He LOVED Silmeria, had wanted and lusted after her for centuries now. He was entitled to a few missteps, Brahms unable to entirely behave around her. 

“How dare you!?” Silmeria repeated, her clawed fingers curling in a show of aggression. She wasn’t reacting to just the kiss, all of the Valkyrie’s upset and anger having been built across the bulk of Brahms’ pursuit. From the first time he had kidnapped her, to the encounters there after, the arguments and flirtations, the seeds of doubt he had helped nurture in her mind. It went beyond even that, the rage lost in part to the shock and horror of the attack, the injuries she had sustained, the pain she had endured. The hurt and the humiliation of her defeat, the resignation that she had felt, the horror she still in part struggled with, Silmeria unable to fully forgive the things done to her. The crimes committed, or Brahms’ attempt to rectify the most grievous of wrongs, his bite healing the damage to her body but not to her mind.

She might never forgive him. Might even always hate him, despising Brahms for what he had done, for what he had allowed her to become. The monster as she still saw it, Silmeria now the very thing that she had fought against for centuries. The woman had a right to the despair that she was feeling, to the anger and the disbelief, the rebellion inside her. She was confused, hurt in a way that was so different from everything that Silmeria had already suffered through. 

He was powerless to take away THAT pain, Brahms’ bite only able to heal so much. He could right the wrongs of her body, but not that of her heart, Silmeria needing time. The time for forgiveness, for understanding and most especially for acceptance. That time should have been for them, but was instead against them, Brahms knowing that sooner than later, the reckoning would be at hand. 

All too aware of the fact that Odin’s lap dogs were gathering, and of the reason why that they were preparing, Brahms felt the press and constraint of time in a way that he had never. It made him desperate and it made him determined, that frantic energy beset only by the strong purpose of his heart. That newfound incentive, Brahms ready to be beyond ruthless, beyond cruel, the vampire lord vowing that none would take the Valkyrie from him. Not even Silmeria would deny him, Brahms determined that for good of for bad, for love or for hate, this eternity would be theirs.

With that thought in his head, that determination in his heart, Brahms locked eyes with Silmeria. His crimson waged war against her blue, the vampire commanding attention and a grudging respect, the woman standing just a little straighter, a little stronger, the agitated quiver of her body not so much of fear but born of a restless and angry energy.

“I dare because I can!” The rumble of his voice wasn’t meant to be threatening, wasn’t meant to be anything but matter of fact. That a determined thread of anger wound it’s way into his growl betrayed how heated he felt, Brahms bothered by the question. By her complete lack of awareness, Silmeria beyond naive if she had thought things between them had finished. 

“Did you honestly think I was done with you?” He then continued, his eyes flashing with that infernal heat. “That I would let things stand the way that they had become? That I would let you live out your mortality in pain?” His hand had lifted, his clawed fingertips skimming a gentle touch over one perfectly sculpted cheek. God but she was lovely, even in her anger, Silmeria hissing at him and taking a step back.

“It was a pain that you caused!”

“I don’t deny my part or responsibility in that fact.” His grim tone, Brahms letting just a sliver of his pain show. “You have to know, the injuries that you sustained, the damage done your body, had not been my intent. You were never supposed to have suffered.”

She was unreadable save for the anger that lay naked in her expression, Brahms unable to tell if the truth of his words resonated at all with Silmeria’s heart. “You must believe---”

“I must do nothing of the sort!” She interrupted him. “You’re mad if you think otherwise.” Her gaze narrowed with her upset, Silmeria struggling with the truth of what had happened, and the truth of what Brahms’ actual intentions had been. “You may not have wanted to kill or subdue me, but the fact remains you had wanted me! With an unnatural and relentless desire, that obsession leading you to commit a great many evil. The most unholiest of them, the thing that you have turned me into. The monster!”

She wasn’t yet finished, her snarling accusations as powerful as her slap earlier. “Are you happy with what you have wrought!?” Her eyes flashed, Silmeria sneering the next. “With the bride you have claimed, the woman who will do nothing more than hate and despise you, reviling your name and fighting you every step of the way!? Do you think me capable of granting your forgiveness, of overlooking all the people you have helped slaughter, or deeming the lives ruined a justifiable price for YOUR happiness? When your unwarranted lust and the acts it has led you into, SICKENS me!? 

“I understand it’s a lot that I ask of you...” She snorted at that, Silmeria not losing one ounce of her anger. “But I had my reasons...”

Baleful blue eyes glared at him in response, making his tongue falter for one uncertain moment. “Wrong as they might be, as crazy as they might seem, my actions was driven by purpose. By a true desire, and the connection that exists between us.”

“You imagine things where they are NOT!”

His eyes blazed with a hot fury, Brahms suddenly crowding into her space, Silmeria’s back hitting against the reinforced window’s pane. “I will NOT...” he growled as a threat and a warning to her. “NOT! Let you deny what has gone on between us. What we have BOTH felt, that seductive pull between us, that force that has kept us both from ending the other. There is an attraction there, a...” He hesitated, unable to admit out loud to Silmeria, the love that he had. “A fascination that even you have felt.”

“I’ve been damned thrice over for it.” She muttered, then pushed at him, her voice regaining it’s strength. “I should have NEVER stopped trying to kill you!”

He couldn’t keep the smirk from his face, Brahms’ downright insolent, as he told her that that wouldn’t have made any bit of difference. “Do you know why?” He challenged. “Can you even guess?” Her expression numb, Silmeria merely shook her head no. “Never mind that you are not strong enough, that you lack the experience needed to take a vampire of my age on...you think your sword a powerful enough deterrent, the animosity and energy behind it enough to hide the fact that you had already been lost!?”

“Silmeria, you were TIRED, and I? I was the spark needed, setting ablaze all of your secret hopes and dreams.” 

Her jaw had dropped at that. “How dare you...you arrogant, insufferable fiend!”

“That I may be, and then some, but the fact still remains that it was I that gave you a renewed purpose to your life. Admit it. If not to me, then to yourself that the idea of just the chance of just one more of our encounters had become the very reason you had begun to look forward to taking to the field.” They were standing so close together that it was impossible to not touch, his body brushing against her with every triumphant word spoken. “You wanted to see me….”

“No.”

“To wax philosophical and debate with me.” He grinned even more. “I was the fount of information that you craved, the opposing point of view that worked to open your eyes to a new perspective. I made you curious, and I made you FEEL, that myriad of confusing, conflicting thoughts leaving you to second guess not only the war, not only your king, but that of your very purpose in life!”

He had hit home his point, the anger boiling over into her expression, her jaw clenching noticeably as though Silmeria prepared to argue. Brahms found himself leaning into her space and resting a clawed fist on the glass positioned behind her. “Go ahead and deny it.” He then challenged her. “Lie to me, as much as you try to lie to yourself.”

“I loathe you.” She hissed, angry eyes flashing darker with defiance. 

“Yes, I suppose a part of you does.” He nodded, still in her space, still boxing her in. “But it’s just one side of a spectrum...that thin dividing line between love and hate.”

“Love!?” Silmeria scoffed.

He pulled back just a tad, holding her gaze with his. “Oh I know you’re not there...” Brahms couldn’t keep from smirking. “YET. But there’s the chance of it...”

“Never!”

“Eternity is too long a time for never to have any real meaning to it.” He fixed her with a patronizing look. “You as a Valkyrie should know all about that.” His fingers itched to reach out and catch hold of her hair, to play with one of those unruly curls that grazed so insolently against the side of her cheek.   
Tell me Silmeria, how is it? How does it feel to be so alive now?”

“I...I don’t know what you mean….”

“Don’t you?” His tone was demanding, Brahms still staring at her. “When you’ve felt more in this last few minutes, than you have ever before experienced as a Goddess? As one of Odin’s Valkyries?” Now he did smirk, the vampire reaching out with his hand, intent on cupping her face in the palm of it. “I’ve not only set you free, I’ve opened the way to your passions.”

She struck out at him then, batting away his hand before Brahms could land that touch. The immediate violence of such an act, only made his smile more pronounced, Brahms feeling as though she was proving him right. Silmeria seemed to realize it too, her eyes flashing with her upset, as she snarled. “You’ve made me no better than a feral beast, a creature who bases action on instinct rather than reason!”

She shook her head then. “I rather die than be this….this out of control!”

“It’s not wrong to feel, to give yourself over to emotion.” Brahms argued. “Certainly it’s more right than the stifled existence Odin would have you Valkyrie endure.” He purposefully avoided calling it a life, the vampire lord of the strong opinion that an eternity of such rigid control and cold reason was anything but the warmth and vitality of true living.

She had stiffened in response to that, Silmeria not shy about expressing how much his words had bothered her. The truth of it gleamed in her eyes, the blue a bit disheartened with the woman’s own many doubts. Brahms pressed his advantage, preying upon the private thoughts and fears of the Goddess, the very doubts she had begun to express more and more over the course of their centuries long interactions.

“He’s never even given you a chance, a CHOICE for anything else.” Those blue eyes were like two dark storm clouds, all tumultuous and striking. There was even a sullen defiance that still sparked like lightning in her gaze, Silmeria looking as though she had wanted to argue even if meant outright lying. To him and to her, Silmeria still retaining some manner of loyalty to her King, and to the women she had served with.

“How long, Silmeria?” Brahms’ voice was a harsh growl. “How long before Odin had a sword put in your hand? How much of a childhood did you get to even have….!?”

“It was my choice.” But she couldn’t quite make eye contact with him. “My decision and desire to follow my sisters into battle sooner than I should have.”

“And just WHO saw to it, that a mere slip of a girl, had the skills necessary to survive a war? To not only survive it, but to thrive amid the adversity, with countless kills attributed to your name? Hmmm?”

“I…..I had to be prepared.” Her voice was unsteady then. “I had to learn what would be needed for the role that was my divine and sacred duty.”

“Duty.” His lip curled at that, Brahms sneering at the very thought. “A pretty word for the mindless enslavement of the Valkyrie.”

“We are NOT slaves!”

“You were not free either!” He growled. 

“And what do you constitute as being free!?” Her eyes narrowed with that. “These wild emotions, these out of control thoughts and impulses…? Certainly…” A slight smirk to the pouting sensuality of her lips. “The blood that you require, that you need, make you as much a slave as any other you would insult!”

“Would you consider the mortals slave to the hunger that sustains them?” The vampire countered. “To the sating of a need that would otherwise see them die a slow death?” Brahms was frustrated then, for it was a thread of conversation that hearkened back to a debate that had been going on for centuries, and across countless encounters, where they had argued the hard truths of a vampire’s need versus that of any other being who ate and drank to live.

“There is marked difference between that and yours!”

“What difference?” Brahms mocked. “Death results in that need, creatures both big and small being slaughtered for that hunger. From the cattle that they keep for that exact purpose, to the crops that they farm. It’s an innocent life they destroy, that all existences take for their own. We’re all parasites, feeding off each other in a never ending cycle of life and death.”

“It’s barbaric.” 

“It’s a part of life. Everyone is both prey and predator, even those of divine blood.” She made a scoffing sound at that, but otherwise kept quiet. Brahms dared let a hope spark inside him, a hope that he was getting through to her. “Silmeria...it’s time you come to terms with this. Before that need inside you takes over and consumes your every thought.”

“No!” She shoved at him then, and ducked under his arm. “My sisters WILL be coming. They will see to it that I don’t become just another of your mindless minions. They will save me, and they will save my soul!”

“There’s no chance of that, of any of that!” Brahms snapped. “Your soul is not what is in jeopardy here!” 

“I will be DAMNED if I feed!” She snapped back. “Truly and completely, without any chance of salvation!”

“You’ll be damned regardless!” He had pivoted in place, intent on her, no matter which way that she tried to run. “For when has Odin ever been known to show mercy to a soul he has no use for!?” Brahms was again trying to crowd her, as though cornering her body would make her mind at last face the absolute truth of his words. “How many have been deemed unworthy? How many have been damned for no greater a sin than that of living a life of peace? Hmm? Why is a quiet life of faith and devotion deemed a lesser value than that of a life lived by the sword?”

Silmeria had no answer for him, she had none for herself, her lips stammering on an unvoiced word. It was all right, he could speak for the both of them. “The sick and the old, the children and more, all those innocent souls. Why would Odin condemn them? Why would YOU!?”

“I don’t….” She finally whispered, in a broken kind of voice. “It’s not right...it’s NEVER been right...” Triumph flared at those words, Brahms giving a kind of satisfied nod of his head. For one second Silmeria seemed to look through him, and then her gazed hardened, the blue clashing with his crimson, as she hissed. “But neither have YOU!”

“Me?!”

She actually advanced on him, Silmeria poking a sharp, claw tipped finger in the center of his bared chest. “You disrupt the natural balance of things! You think the souls sent to salvation were meant to spend the entirety of their eternity fighting!? The heavens are supposed to be a reward, a paradise for those faithful who have died. Instead they must do battle, fight a war that YOU started!”

“You blind, little fool!” He snarled. “Must you remain so willfully ignorant of the facts?” Brahms snagged harsh hold of her wrist then, his patience this much closer to fraying apart.

“I’ve no reason to think otherwise!” Silmeria’s eyes flashed, her free hand pushing at him, the woman struggling to break free of the hold he had on her. “You’ve no way to prove me, to prove Odin wrong! There’s not enough lies in Creation to pretty up the truth of what you’ve done.”

“You’re wrong.” His tone was grim, Brahms ignoring her outward struggles for favor of her inwards one. “The proof that you need, the truth of it, of everything, is within your grasp. You just have to brave enough to TAKE it.”

Wary eyes blinked caution up at him, Silmeria forgetting for a moment, her attempt to get free. “I’m plenty brave!”

“Yes. In a way you are.” She scoffed at that half way agreement. “The courage and your blood thirsty ambition on the battlefield, certainly attest to that. It still won’t make the truth any easier to stomach...” 

“I’m more than ready.” Brahms lip quirked at that, watching as determination surged strong in Silmeria’s expression. “I’ll do whatever it takes to prove you are wrong...even risk the chance that you might be telling me a truth that conflicts with all I’ve been taught to believe!”

“Then do it!” he challenged her, hauling her off balance so that Silmeria fell against his chest. Her nostrils couldn’t help but flare at that nearness, at the blood that had dried on his skin. “FEED!” Blue eyes widened in shock, Silmeria almost forgetting about the blood, to instead gape astonishment at him.

“I most certainly will not!”

“There is truth in my blood, the proof you so desperately require.” Brahms’ arms had locked around her, the man experiencing the delightful if frustrating sensation of the woman’s body squirming against his, in a desperate attempt to break free.

“I….I don’t believe you!” Her frustrated tone cried out, Silmeria struggling more and more. “And even if I did think there a chance of it, I would never damn myself in the process for it!”

He gnashed his teeth together in frustration, the very stubborn and indomitable spirit of hers that he had so admired, now infuriating him in turn. “You’re already lost! To Odin and your kind! They WILL be coming, not to save you, but to SILENCE you.”

She was still shaking in refusal, her head almost violent in it’s turn from side to side. “Don’t give yourself up to Odin’s fear!” She stopped at that, Silmeria’s eyes having gone huge at that sentence.

“Odin’s fear?”

“The truth as I hold it. He’s killed to keep it contained, has and will destroy any he thinks has had a taste of it.” Brahms explained. “He’d see me dead for it too, but he lacks the power needed to see me so thoroughly destroyed.”

“That...that makes no sense…”

“Maybe not yet.” He agreed. “But it will once the truth is in you, once you see for yourself the memories of my blood.” Brahms noticed how Silmeria couldn’t help but glance towards his neck at that, the vampire smiling encouragement from her. “Yes feed. Take it and the truth you so need, and drown yourself in.”

“Feed….” She whispered, and he relaxed his hold on her, enough so that Silmeria could now move. Her clawed fingertips touch on his throat, a firm press of nails touching over the wounds that had not yet fully healed.

“My blood, it calls to you….”

“Yes...” Silmeria breathed, and her sharp tipped caress was a pleasure inducing sensation, Brahms shuddering as a result. “It does….” Blue eyes glanced up at him, a trouble express in the heart of them. Silmeria was struggling with something, some thought that even Brahms was not privy to.

“Feed.” He asserted that word with action, his hand covering hers, and exerting a pressure forceful enough to cause her clawed caress to go from gentle to rough, her nails tearing open his skin. Her nostrils flared at the scent of his fresh spilling blood, Silmeria shivering in place and absolutely riveted by the sight of it on his throat. There was a complete lack of resistance in her, the blood exposed not so much making her docile, but waking up the predator that existed inside.

It showed in her eyes, that desperate need, the hunger bringing to life the embodiment of a wild sensuality. It was THAT look that had lulled so many into a vampire’s embrace, that sensuality that had beckoned and seduced, outright manipulated many a creature into willingly given up their blood. Brahms thought he could even feel the slightest bit of compulsion lace into that gaze, as though Silmeria was unconsciously trying to take what he would so willingly give her.

“Do it.” He bade her, pulling Silmeria along with him, as Brahms back stepped into a chair. He dropped onto it, and she tumbled down with him, not so much as a gasp whispered out of her, Silmeria remaining riveted by the blood. Both her hands were now on him, fingers downright reverent as they touched against the wound to poke and prod that ravaged flesh. 

Her lips had parted in a silent wonder, showcasing fangs that positively glistend. Brahms moaned in excitement, let his head fall back to further offer himself to her. A hand sank into his hair fingers fisted hold of the coarse strands, Silmeria downright snuggling close to him to better breathe in and revel over the blood.

The moan it inspired was of a helpless surrender. HERS. But the arousal it caused, was both them, Brahms digging fingers into Silmeria’s hips. She made a kittenish kind of sound, a little mewl of pleasure, as she pressed her body against his. His pulse quickened with his excitement, Brahms feeling the warm breath of her ghosting along his skin. He arched into it, the anticipation building, a triumphant elation nearly upon him, waiting for the feels of fangs to pierce into his flesh.

With a moan and a tremble, Brahms waited on a moment that felt like eternity suspended. All his hopes, dreams, and desires hinging on Silmeria’s bite.

 

To Be Continued….

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 7/18/2018 This one didn’t take me as long as eight did. Still was a struggle to get right, and I am not happy with how I ended the chapter. Just cause it feels like an abrupt place to stop. Although the original version of the chapter also ended with him waiting for her to bite him...Honestly, it felt like if I wrote anymore, it would spill over into stuff that had happened in the original's ten, and I didn’t want that to leak into the story just yet.
> 
> But over all, I am pretty happy with this chapter.
> 
> \----Michelle


	10. Ten

It was a mistake to have indulged him. To have ever even acknowledged his existence. That she had, hadn’t been restricted to just a one time occurrence. Silmeria has had whole, entire centuries worth of such momentary weakness all strung together in one long line of bad decisions and poor judgments. They all blurred together now, the memories not so much set aside as they were lost, swallowed up by that insistent voice inside her. By that gnawing hunger, every moment that it went unsatisfied, making it harder and harder for her to think clearly. It left her angry and it left her unprepared, Silmeria feeling as though she was barely holding her own against Brahms’ none too subtle manipulations. Against the arguments that he made, the vampire telling her nothing new when it came to the man pleading his kind’s case.

She had heard it all before. Every last claim and accusation, Brahms quick to make excuses and pass blame. He’d say and do anything to make the vampire race better than it was in truth, Brahms determined to make Odin the villain in all this. She knew better than to believe him, and yet seeds of doubt had still wormed their way into her heart all the same, Silmeria hating Brahms all the more for it. She hated herself too, for the very real fact that those doubts had already been there long before the vampire had ever begun his pursuit of her. That time before Brahms, when her existence had already stretched on for several centuries, and had given rise to her doubts. It had made Silmeria a victim, a victim not so much to the vampire, as to the uncertainty that had birthed to life inside her by more than a few questions. Those questions had been about herself, but had also been about the war she had been required to take part in. Silmeria had even wondered about Creation itself entirely, the many odd and surprising way of things.

Such a curiosity was not common place among the Valkyries. Not even in the brief time of their mortality. To wonder about the hows and whys of Creation, had set her apart from her own sisters, from the warrior goddesses that were both family to her and the representation of her ideals. She had never really dared to tell them, had never outright admitted to the difference that was swirling to life inside her.

That difference, that curiosity, had been nothing more than a weakness. Her downfall, the doubts in her heart having made Silmeria vulnerable. She had had questions, and an even greater thirst for their answers, and had unwittingly left herself open. Marked herself as a prey that could and had been exploited. By a vampire no less, Brahms the King of them, ready and willing to twist every thought in an attempt to plant suspicion’s poison inside her. He had taken advantage of her, using the many troubling truths that Silmeria had so often wondered about, in order to get close to her. It had been a most subtle tact, his fangs and his claws having been abandoned, for a far different, far gentler weapon of choice.

His WORDS. 

With every word spoken, with every idea offered, every thought debated, Brahms had worked Silmeria over. Had used her own desires against her, seducing her with the idea of just the chance of some concrete answers. Just the hope of it, had allowed the Valkyrie to let the vampire get closer than should have ever been tolerated, Silmeria thoroughly manipulated by Brahms, by the opportunities he had presented. The chance to indulge in her own curious nature, to talk with and about the thoughts in her head, to do more than just wonder but consider and debate, even outright argue against the view point that had contradicted everything Silmeria had ever been taught to believe. She had taken to the challenge, the Valkyrie an open minded sort, that had been ever so willing, ready to at least listen to what the Lord of the Undead had had to say. 

She hadn’t always liked it. It was hard concepts that the vampire had tried to introduce, a conflicting narrative to the rigid structure of what should have been Silmeria’s unshakable beliefs as a Valkyrie. She had never so blindly accept Brahms words as the truth, but his view of things HAD given her some new things to at least consider. 

She had been nothing more than a fool, having behaved no better than a child, so ripe and eager for what Brahms had been slinging. Silmeria had let herself be seduced, by those lively debates, and by the encounters that she had begun to look so forward to. So enamored with it, and with the vampire himself, Silmeria had let herself be manipulated. Tricked into not only spending time with the Lord of the Undead, but having actually sought him out. She had been almost desperate for it, for him, this break in the monotony of her existence, from the endless fighting and warring. 

She hadn’t been immune to him, to his charms. Brahms was in fact a virile specimen of masculinity, all rippling muscles, and darkly handsome good looks. On a physical level alone he could have been any Valkyries’ ideal, Brahms every inch of a battle hardened warrior. That he had the mind to go along with those looks, had been a devastating two punch blow, the vampire a man who would have been deemed worthy if not for the Undead taint to his soul. 

Even knowing what he was, what he so often did, Silmeria had still felt a little flattered by his interest. More than a little, if truth be known. It had made that formidable guard of hers go down, Silmeria in danger, actively flirting with it, and too blind to have realized it. Not until it had been far, far too late.

She had been paying the price ever since. Stripped of everything of any importance, her divinity, and that of her future, Silmeria had even lost that of her sisters. Never again would they smile, never again would they share that closeness, Lenneth and Hrist now beholden to save Silmeria in the only way that they could. The only way possible, all of them stripped of any true choice. For that, Silmeria was even more sorry, for the pain and the heartbreak her folly would and was causing her family.

She was a fool that should have known better. There had never been a vampire who had NOT been after something, and the King of them had proven no different. It mattered not that his intent hadn’t been her life’s blood, but that of a far more personal slant, the vampire king having lusted for the Goddess, for the woman he had thought she could be. It mattered not that Silmeria had had no such desire, that different though the Goddess had been, she had still been a Valkyrie when it came to her life’s purpose. The mistake her own, noting had been able to disabuse Brahms of that delusion of his. Certainly not her fists and her sword, or that of the argument that had followed, Silmeria’s own growing horror and embarrassment falling on ears that had been deaf. To reason, to pleas, even to outright insults, Brahms this implacable force determined to seize hold of Silmeria for his own.

All the determination in the world couldn’t have changed the hard facts of Silmeria’s unwillingness. She had fought him, rebuked him, even tried to outright kill him. It had been all for naught, Silmeria so vastly outmatched when it came to age and the experience gained with it. It had left her with no other real choice, Silmeria unable to kill him, unable to come close to even hurting him. She had run, and in some ways she had NEVER stopped, nearly a whole half of the last century devoted to putting distance between them. It hadn’t made enough of a difference, hadn’t stopped it all from catching up with her. Brahms had been a force to be reckoned with long before he had ever imagined having those feelings. Once aware of them, and aware of her as not a Valkyrie, but as a woman, Brahms had become this obsessed entity, the man downright unstoppable. No length had been too great, no extreme not considered. Such a criminal determination is what had led them full circle to this point, Silmeria changed by it, and thoroughly caught. Ensnared not just by the man, but by his blood, Silmeria riveted in place by the sight and the smell of it. 

She couldn’t take her eyes off of it, off of him, Silmeria openly staring. Watching as crimson rivulets seeped through the openings that Silmeria’s own nails had helped make. It made her fingers curl, the woman wanting to run those sharp tipped claws over more of that dark skin, tracing an exploratory path across the chiseled perfection that was the vampire’s abdomen. She wanted to do more than just that, Brahms the ultimate in virile masculinity, all rugged and muscular, and holding an immense power to his frame. To his entire being, the Lord of the Undead a man whose strengths lay not just in brute physicality, but in a crafty cunning, his mind one of the sharpest in all of Creation. He was smart, and he was strong, commanding both a fear and a respect from all. Certainly Silmeria fell victim to it too, a sliver of fear, and a modicum of grudging respect inside her, the woman in awe of him, aware of Brahms as not just a monster, and not just as some enemy to fight against, but as a MAN.

It gave birth to a vulnerability inside her, that womanly response that she had tried to bury. That fear and that interest, Silmeria never more aware of her soft femininity then when Brahms would look at her. With that raw longing in his face, the ragged desire in his eyes, the vampire lusting for something far more potent than her blood. His desire made parts of her come alive, Silmeria’s heart having raced, her palms having sweated, something deep in her body having clenched with an undeniable want. That primal response was made only a million times worse now that she had been changed, Silmeria out of control, thought and reason lost to the immediate want of just simply feeling.

She had become a creature of desire, a woman who tended to act before thinking things through. Certainly Silmeria hadn’t given it much thought before she had laid her hands on him. That want had simply been there, it and a dozen others like it competing in her head, giving her a kind of sensory overload that the Valkyrie had been helpless to resist. It had resulted in her current predicament, the blood easing downwards in a slow lazy crawl, lovingly painting red the canvas that was Brahms’ body. She couldn’t stop looking, her mouth going dry with an unnatural thirst. With that ravenous hunger that was now so deeply an ingrained part of her, Silmeria wanting to taste it, taste HIM.

She shuddered then, the image a vivid picture in her mind. That of her tongue dragging slowly across his skin, blood and sweat mingled together to make a taste so uniquely Brahms’ own. Something rich and flavorful, with that hint of masculine spice, the vampire surely as good to the bite as he was to the smell.

She took in deep, purposeful breaths of his heady scent, then felt her world spiral apart, Silmeria falling. He caught her, Brahms hands on her hips, both steadying her and urging her closer. She made a soft sound like never before, a kittenish mewl of excitement, the Valkyrie licking at her lips with an anticipation that made both their gazes grow dark. Vaguely she was aware of just how much Brahms was staring at her, that crimson gaze of his alight with the heat of a thousand suns. She shivered under the warmth of it, Silmeria finding her body was reacting to more than just his blood now. There was that not entirely unpleasant tightening inside her, her womanly parts clenching with the fiercest of wants, Silmeria keenly aware of just where he had rested his hands. She felt the dig of his claws into her hips, felt the power in that touch, her whole body going super nova in response. Silmeria felt warm, a heat crawling through her, from the soles of her feet, to the top of her head, and yet she still couldn’t stop shivering. Couldn’t stop the trembles that wracked her body, or the way that contrasting chill competed with the heat, everything about her feeling far too sensitive.

Her tattered gown couldn’t offer up any protection, the Valkyrie aware of the feel of Brahms through the thin material. She felt as though his hands were directly on her, felt as though it was her flesh tearing instead of the dress. There was that whisper of heat from his body, that warmth something she now craved. She pressed herself against his front for it, let his blood slick skin paint it’s red impression onto the silk cloth of her dress, let the contact of their bodies set the Goddess a tingle. She positively ached as a result of it, parts of her that Silmeria had never known could hurt, now throbbing with a dull kind of sensation, her teeth most of all. Those fangs of hers were changing, getting even longer and sharper, Silmeria hungry for SO much more than just his blood.

His entire body was a temptation, a mouthwatering prospect that gave to life the most vivid and the most startling of ideas in her head. Dark, forbidden urges, Silmeria wanting to sink teeth into him, to bite at and claim every inch of him, and then some, the woman curling her nails in place. That they were now claws didn’t seem to much matter, those sharp tips breaking into his flesh, goading more of that intoxicating scent to come out. It only made the lust inside her grow stronger, that potent sensation a feeling that the Valkyrie had little real experience with, all of it centered on the man before her. It existed as more than just a desire for his blood, as more than that gnawing hunger that demanded it be sated. It was everything that Silmeria was familiar with and not, the former Goddess’ innocence unable to protect her from the effect the vampire has had over her. 

It had never been able to. For all her talk of vaunted monsters and their unwanted attentions, Silmeria had still felt the attraction there. The tiny slivers that had only grown more potent over time, that womanly part of her coming alive, body and soul awakened to a secret longing. She had never known what to do with it, hadn’t even understood a fraction of it, those feelings and desires confusing her. That had been her TRUE weakness, Silmeria left vulnerable. To the feelings and to the man who had inspired them, the Valkyrie caught, seduced not by one part of him, but the entirety of his whole. The warrior and that of his brilliance, his intellect and his soul. Both a champion and a monster, Silmeria had responded to that brutal side of him as much as she had hated it.

She might have even hated herself for it too. For that helpless reaction, that unnatural desire, Brahms himself proving her ideal. He had been smart, and he had been capable, the vampire the ultimate in combatants. Both a strategic genius, and a brutally efficient killer, the vampire was a warrior born and bred true. He should have been everything that a Valkyrie might crave in a match, having the brain, the muscles, and the skill to use both. The one unfortunate in all that? That the vampire used those very things that she had so admired, to slay her own allies. To deliver a swift and merciless death to not only the Valkyries and their divine brethren, but to target the very innocents of Creation. She could not forgive him that, no matter the reason. He was an abomination, a near relentless blight that spread across the nine realms, each vampire made just another step towards total blasphemy.

Silmeria might be just as big a blasphemer now. Not just for what Brahms had turned her into, but for the sin committed, the unholy and unnatural desires that she has had. The Valkyrie had been downright criminal, behaving in a way that had been wholly inappropriate to the divine order of things. She had been the one who had made the choice, Simeria deciding to lay down her sword, and take up instead meeting with him, excuse after excuse made for just one more chance at their talks. Those debates that had gotten her mind going, the Valkyrie ever one step closer to an answer that might satisfy the questions inside her. 

It had gone against EVERYTHING that was law to the Valkyries, Silmeria not so much ignoring her sacred duty, as making an exception for this one vampire. The knowledge she had sought wasn’t a sin, but the way she had gone about acquiring it was, the Goddess beholden to end Brahms’ existence, or die in the attempt. She had done neither, had gone above and beyond what was right, and what was sane, seeking him out again and again. Secret, clandestine meetings that had ultimately led to her ruin, Silmeria changed. Made into something that not only set her apart from her sisters, but tried to outwardly match the difference that had always been inside her. Brahms hadn’t been the cause of it, though he had helped nurture it, and the thoughts inside her, for his own dark, twisted desire.

Marked by that difference, and now transformed as a result of that desire, the blood called to her. HIS especially, Silmeria seduced by the sight of it it. By the mere smell, the woman near mindless with her want, with that near insatiable need, the one time Goddess pressing her body against his. She craved that contact of flesh as much as she now did the blood, the Valkyrie’s body alight with desires she had no name for, let alone could understand entirely. Yet there was an innate instinct inside of her, Brahms the key to satisfying so much. Her body and her soul, Silmeria’s weight heavy on his lap, as the woman writhed in place. She wanted to burrow as close as possible to him, to not only get his blood on and in her, but to join a piece of herself with a part of him. Her fangs in his throat, Silmeria’s lips peeled back, the woman poised to strike, when she felt it. Felt HIM, the firm drag of his hands as he hauled her more firmly in place over his lap.

The desire inside her, that hunger, was a malleable force, and the vampire seemed a master at guiding the ebb and the flow of that lust. She went from this close to sinking fang into him, to near combustion,   
Silmeria wild and excited and YEARNING. She couldn’t seem to get enough of him, couldn’t seem to decide what held the greatest allure. His body, his blood, his LIPS, Silmeria clawing at him, at both his skin and a vest that had been made ragged from her nails, the woman’s thighs spreading open. The thin fabric of her skirts pooled around them but could not protect her from the hard, heat of him. Nor did she want it too, Silmeria rubbing up against that solid mass, feeling the way that part of him pulsed and ached with a heart beat of it’s own.

Instinct had taken over, that need instructing the Valkyrie in the arts of a woman’s seduction. She moaned and keened atop him, ground her hips with a newfound purpose. His vest split and tore, the remnants tossed to the floor. She was going absolutely wild, and taking Brahms with her, Silmeria running her hands over the sculpted planes of his abdomen. She took delight in the way that the simplest of touch made HIM shudder, Brahms gripping her harder, her own gown’s skirt becoming a shredded mess over her hips. She watched him through a vision made hazy with hunger and need, the only colors in this world that of the red of Brahm’s blood, and the brown of his skin.

She needed him. In the worst of ways, the desires of the flesh merge with that of her thirst. Her claws skirted lower on his body, ever lower, Silmeria trying to shift enough space between them, to get a grip on the buckle of his belt. He would not let her, the man hauling her back for every inch she tried to put between them. The frustration hissed out of her, the anger over being denied even this little, enough to make Silmeria gnash her teeth together. He shook in response, and it was laughter that made his entire body vibrate against hers, Silmeria gasping, infuriated.

That anger sliced a thin thread through her lust, just enough of that potent emotion felt to make Silmeria narrow her eyes at the vampire. It didn’t quite shake her free of the many different desires laying siege against her, but it made it just a little easier to focus. To concentrate, Silmeria trying to swim free of a rip tide of sensation and feeling that would otherwise drown her. That part of her that reacted to the anger, to the fit and feel of THAT emotion, took comfort in it’s presence. The sharp spike of it, that red emotion something more familiar to her than any of the wild lust and instinct that had taken Silmeria over. She sank into the comfort of that anger, shied away from that out of control side of her. Those foreign and unwanted feelings, the desire and strength of them such as to be scary to the inexperienced female that she in truth was. As was the proximity of their bodies, Silmeria letting out a strangled sound, a not quire gasp, to find herself so wanton and brazen as to be willingly straddling Brahms’ lap. 

For one sliver of a second, she went absolutely still in response to that discovery, the Valkyrie gaping horrified at the vampire. Did he even notice? Did he even care? She had no intention of waiting to find out, Silmeria aware of the dig of Brahms’ nails into the flesh of her hips. Funny that, how just a second ago that dig had been a pain that bordered on pleasurable when now all Silmeria could focus on was the damning evidence of his hands on her body. Of the touch she had been allowing, Silmeria half mindless to her blood lust, to the other hungers that had been roused in response to it. 

In a move reminiscent of the last half of the past century, Silmeria made the only decision that she could. She RAN, from the feelings, and from the vampire that was at the heart of that maelstrom of conflicting emotions. There was no escaping the horror though, the shame, and the hate, Silmeria finding she had plastered herself against the wall that was furthest from Brahms. It still wasn’t enough distance, the room not big enough for her to escape from him, or that alluring scent of his blood. Odin help her, but she STILL wanted a taste, Silmeria shaking, violently so.

“How...” The words failed her, tongue faltering for one moment before Silmeria regained the ability to truly speak. “How dare you!” She finally managed to spit out, her eyes locking with the crimson damnation that was Brahms’ narrowed gaze. “Taking advantage of me like that!”

“Advantage?” Brahms snorted at that. He was still seated, as though the vampire sensed any movement on his part would erupt Silmeira into violence. “Was not I who put my hands on you FIRST.”

She colored then in shame, Silmeria recalling how without even thinking she had laid fingers on the wound marks of his throat. She had to have been half out of her mind to have done even that little, never mind what had followed once Brahms had forcibly made her slice open skin with her claws. 

“You PREYED on my vulnerabilities!” She shot back. “You knew what would happen, how weak I would be to fresh spilling blood.”

“Not weak enough apparently.” He muttered it under his breath, and yet with a vampire’s enhanced state of hearing, Silmeria heard that whisper all the same.

“Monster!” She hissed, all her anger and spite fueling both the word and her glare. “Abomination!”

“Maybe so...” His casual way of agreeing didn’t appease the anger boiling over inside her, Silmeria tensed and coiled to strike, and that was before Brahms moved to stand up. “But still, I can’t help but wonder why you are so afraid...” Her eyes were drawn to his hand, to the way he touched those fingers to the worst of the tears her nails—claws had made. 

“I’m not afraid, I am angry!”

“You are both! Frightened and made ever so wary of the truth I can give you...” His clawed fingers had already been made red from the way he had been digging them into HER flesh, the blood from his throat not making a difference towards minimize the crimson tainting his dark skin.

“As if I would believe anything you had to tell me!”

“Don’t you think I know that?” He countered, more than a hint of agitation to that growl. “I could talk myself hoarse, and you would still not believe me. My blood however, is an all too different beast. You’d not be able to deny it’s truth, no matter how much you might wish otherwise.”

“Is your truth really that terrible!?” It came out as haughty disdain, Silmeria finding she had a dozen questions taking shape in response to the vampire’s blatant agitation. 

“Yes.” The word growled out of him, the nod of his head terse at best. “It is.”

“To Odin?” It wasn’t much of a guess hazard, not based on all that the vampire had already been hinting at. “To me?”

“To Creation itself.” He corrected none too gently. Brahms still boiled over with a mad energy, a kind of anger and insolence, as he paced a step closer to Silmeria. “What I am offering you is a truth that should have held the power to change the entirety of the world itself!”

“Should?” Silmeria seized upon that word sharply. “Then why hasn’t it?” She shook her head then. “Why doesn’t anyone else know this truth? Why hasn’t it spread? Why if so powerful must it be contained in a single man’s blood.” The Valkyrie couldn’t keep from scoffing. “How is such a thing even possible!?”

“Because I was THERE!” It wasn’t so much the anger that erupted out of him, but that sudden livid light in his eyes unable to hide a sliver of unease, some haunted memory that was all Brahms’ own. “I bore witness to it all….I not only saw every sin, I LIVED through them.” There was a fury inside him, a fury that could not be suppressed entirely. It stole sound from the room, from the very castle, Silmeria at last realizing she could not hear any others about the castle. Could not hear their movements, could not hear their conversations. It lent an eerie quiet to the situation, as though she and Brahms were the only two left in all of existence.

Brahms seemed to feel it too, the anger contorting his face, changing. That grimace, one born of realization, the vampire king shaking his head no. Silmeria couldn’t claim to understand it, any more than she could half of the things Brahms had said and had alluded to. Was it the blood’s fault? And whose? His tainted self for driving him mad, or hers for not seizing hold of the truth that was so eagerly offered? She just didn’t know, her lips parting though she had no words for him. No pity or sympathy, and certainly no willingness, the Valkyrie never forgetting the choice stripped of her.

“I’ve guarded Creation’s secrets for countless millennia.” It was a confirmation of all everyone had ever suspected, so many rumors swirling about the Vampire Lord’s true age. “I’ve been steadfast and determined, a protector if you will….” He ignored the derisive sound she had made at that, Brahms pinning her in place with his reproach. “Never...NEVER have I come this close to endangering my entire kingdom.”

“Wouldn’t warring against the Heavens amount to that?” Silmeria managed to ask.

“That is SURVIVAL.” He hissed the word out. “No...it’s more than that, it is a fight for our right to EXIST. We’ve no other choice….we fight...or we simply lay down and die, and that is one thing we will never give Odin the satisfaction of.”

“Is that why you hate him so?” Silmeria asked. “Because he would right the wrongs of your unnatural existence?”

Brahms parted his lips, a word halfway formed before he thought better of it. He again looked mad, shaking his head no, laughing without any real humor to it. “Ah how easy it is for you...” He muttered. “How effortlessly you chip away at MY defenses.”

“Your defenses? What are you even talking about!?”

“You Silmeria...and the lack of control you inspire inside ME.” The vampire was suddenly there, right in front of her, his large hand cupping the nape of her neck, pulling Silmeria in close. She found his lips to her ear, a husky whisper reverberating through her, the Valkyrie trembling in response to it. “If I’m not careful, you’ll have me spilling all my secrets in a matter of moments…!”

“Why..” Her nostrils flared, Silmeria getting hold of that maddening scent of Brahms. “Why not just tell me then?” Her voice couldn’t sound as accusing as she had wanted it to be, not with that near breathless quality to it. That soft lilting whisper that had been borne due to the close proximity of their bodies to one another.

“Because the castle has ears.” He grated a growl against her skin. “Eager, foolish ears...that think they know better. They don’t know the disaster that they invite...”

“Disaster?” She had seized on that word in an almost desperate manner, Silmeria fighting, struggling to resist the downright hypnotic allure of the vampire’s scent. What was this intoxicating effect that it had over her, what was this newfound appeal that her changed state afflicted her with, Silmeria weak to the blood, to the hunger mounting inside her. It made her want to rub up against him yet AGAIN, inspired the most sacrilegious of thoughts, and already her concentration was shot, the focus splitting between the man’s words, and that of his body’s nearness, all that skin of his offered up to her, a most tantalizing prospect that had Silmeria aching to lay lips, hands, and teeth on him.

She nearly moaned then with that helpless eagerness inside her, Silmeria wanting to put her hands on him. To touch and caress over all that she herself had helped expose of him, Brahms’ body a sculpted marvel that Silmeria wanted to claw at. She instead dug her nails into the palms of HER hands, used that pain to try and center her, to keep those thoughts from spiraling so completely out of her control. It didn’t stop her from breathing in heady lungfuls of his all too appealing scent, or keep Silmeria from noticing the strong pulse of his neck. Her eyes in fact locked onto it, that jugular vein of his ready and ripe for the taking. It throbbed with every beat of an indomitable heart, all of Brahms’ strength and vitality centered there, pumping the blood full of his very essence.

If it was anything like the scent, Brahms’ blood would be a potent and powerful thing to taste, a drugging mouthful of pure ecstasy. It would set off a craving that Silmeria would never, ever be able to satisfy, neck after neck taken in pursuit of an unquenchable thirst. That driving hunger that made all vampires into the soulless beasts that they were. It was a path that would see her as no different, and even knowing that, Silmeria still had to fight the temptation. Her claws dug in harder, enough to slice and tear open her palms in a most brutal fashion, the pain tearing a grunt of discomfort from her. Even that was almost not enough to save her, Silmeria still so focused on his pulse. On that tantalizing expanse of throat, the Valkyrie letting out a helpless, protesting moan as she launched herself backwards. 

Her body hit against a wall, the impact such that it jarred some more sense back into her. That and the pain of claws digging into her in a most brutal fashion, allowed Silmeria to clear free of SOME of the fog that Brahms’ blood and nearness had filled her mind with. She had always known that vampires had possessed the ability to manipulate minds, to command obedience from those that they preyed on, but as a Valkyrie she had never been so easy a mark to his kind’s compulsion. In fact, until this week, she had always been so dismissive and disdainful of those who played easy victim to a vampire, Silmeria completely ignorant of just how strong and devastating a power it really was. 

She knew now. Knew how a vampire’s mental compulsion stripped away choice, how that manipulation left one reeling out of control and made to be ever so compliant. How it had made her all but whim’s puppet, Silmeria so focused on that one desire, she had almost ignored everything else, even the right and the wrong of it. How she was STILL having a difficult time, her nails digging in so hard, she thought they’d burrow right through to the bone. 

“Silmeria...”

“Don’t!” She was all snarl, all wild fury with that tempestuous desire still boiling over inside her. She saw him, but through a haze of red, Silmeria wanting to lash out at him, and instead settling on carving up her own skin. To do otherwise was to invite disaster, HERS, Silmeria lost to the red ruin on Brahms’ skin. “Don’t!” She repeated in just as firm a voice, pressing herself tight against the wall at his approach.

“Silmeria...you are...HURTING yourself.” His eyes touched on the red spectacle that was her bloodied palms, her nails downright defiant as they curled harder into her skin in response. It was almost spiteful, the way she reacted to that show of genuine concern in his crimson colored eyes, Silmeria all a snarl and sneering, looking very much like the rabid animal she felt like.

“Stop it.” She grounded out between teeth. “Stop…!” Her voice cut off abruptly, Brahms suddenly THERE, not just within reach, but actively touching her. That feral sound that escaped her wasn’t anything like what Silmeria was used to hearing, the woman taking a wild swing at the vampire with one tightly closed fist. Such was HIS strength and speed, that she was caught in an instant, Brahms bordering on cruel as he gripped and twisted her wrist. It nearly sent Silmeria scrabbling forward, the woman biting back a scream that bordered on hysterical.

“Stop.” This time she whispered, locking eyes with him. That genuine concern she saw there, didn’t match with his actions, with any of them, Silmeria confused and showing it. Shaking her head from side to side, her whole body a tremble, the one time Valkyrie steeled herself by gathering hold of her anger. Her hatred, and the helplessness he and his kind had inspired, Silmeria glaring. “Stop messing with my mind!”

He looked STARTLED by that accusation, Silmeria feeling a grim satisfaction go through her at that. “You think me that great a fool?” She asked him. “You think me incapable of noticing the will you are imposing on me, the unnatural urges!?”

“I have never thought you any of that.” Brahms answered her with the slightest quirk of his lips. She would have launched herself at him, danger be damned, if the vampire had dared express that full smile of his. 

“You have been using your compulsion against me from the moment I rose as this….this beast!”

That smile that had threatened his expression was lost, to the utter seriousness of the look Brahms now gave her. The grave and stark honesty of his words, the Lord of the Undead leveling a gaze at Silmeria that cut to her soul.

“There has only been one time ever, in our lengthy association, where I have ever felt the need to compel you by force.”

“Lies!” She spat. Again the Valkyrie shook her head no, trying to physically deny the words he had said, the words he continued to speak over her hissing. 

“I am many things. But the one thing I would not be to you, is an outright liar.” He was still gripping her wrist, those fingers like a steel lock about her. She could not get free, not without serious injury to them both, Silmeria trembling with a violence barely contained. “Nor would I manipulate you in this way. Whatever you are feeling, comes from YOU, not me.”

She couldn’t stop the gasp, couldn’t stop the horror from leaking into her expression. “No.” She said, even as he gave a grim nod of his head. “NO!” Silmeria emphasized, and danger be damned, she tried to break free. That wild struggle, her left arm free to back hand him across the face, Silmeria feeling a moment’s satisfaction at the way Brahms head turned from the blow. He didn’t strike her back, but neither did the vampire let go of her, Brahms keeping his head turned to the side, as though striving for a patience that was in short supply.

“I would never…..” Silmeria couldn’t bear his silence. “I would never have these urges. I would never...” She shook her head, not willing to elaborate on just what she was feeling. “Only through your manipulations would I feel this way!”

“Feel what way?” He still wouldn’t look at her. “Hungry for my blood? Or is it that you find yourself desiring more? Ah but then you’ve ALWAYS been that way.”

“How dare you!” She gasped out. “Never once would I act on such a….never once did I ever give you any reason to believe there was an attraction between us!”

“Oh, is it an attraction you are fighting?” Now Brahms did smile, crimson eyes alight with it and a smugness, as he leveled a look her way. “And here I thought to make mention only of your very curious nature, and how you hadn’t been content to be Odin’s obedient puppet for the entirety of your existence.”

She felt the embarrassment heat her skin, Silmeria hating how easily Brahms preyed upon her words. How he twisted their meaning towards his favor. 

“I was never his puppet...” Silmeria quickly corrected her words. “None of us Valkyrie were...” She heard the derision in the way that Brahms snorted at that. “It’s the truth! We Valkyrie may be loyal, but we are beholden to no one but our sacred duty to guard over Creation.”

“And who decided on that duty if not Odin?” Brahms questioned. “You all play faithful to him, and uphold his laws, never knowing the reason why of your existence. The true reason...”

“You only talk in circles!” Silmeria snapped at him. “You dangle supposed truths before me, but you no more detail them out out than Odin ever did!” Her eyes narrowed then. “You used my questions as a mean to manipulate and get close to me and when that failed you simply just TOOK. You can’t even deny that that is what you did!”

Again she tried to get free, and again Brahms held onto her easily enough, hardly any effort seemingly exerted on his part. “Even worse, you do it still! You use your vaunted truth to try and get me to commit the ultimate sin, to blasphemy and feed off your blood. And when that didn’t prove a great enough temptation, you then try to force me a different way, using your vampire tricks to try and control me!”

“You are not someone that is so easily controlled...”

“So you admit it!”

“I admit no such thing.” He countered. “Save for that first time, when I gifted you with this transformation, I have not tried to compel you, nor would I ever...not in this...not when it needs to be your choice to feed...to embrace me and all that I have to offer you.”

“Oh, so now I have a choice?” She mocked him. “Your words are pretty enough for the lies that they are.” The verbal rage was upon her, Silmeria ready to unleash with the entirety of his many, many sins against her. “Where was this choice when I told you no? When I refused you and all you would lay upon me…!? Why was I forced to spend the last half of this century running, no amount of distance great enough for the message to be made clear.” Her eyes narrowed with her upset, with all the indignation that Silmeria was capable of feeling. “You had your kind HUNT me down, actually CRIPPLE me, in an effort to leave me vulnerable enough to the likes of you!”

She felt no satisfaction in seeing Brahms flinch, to watch the mad play of emotions etch their marks into his expression. The sadness there, the guilt, and most of all that anger, Brahms the living embodiment of such a furious amount of feeling. It was as though he was one part wounded, but sparking with that livid intensity that would have anyone, man or woman, vampire or Valkyrie, take a step back. 

Certainly she should have, Silmeria staring Brahms down, her chin lifted stubbornly in mocking challenge to him. He looked almost crazed in response, that anger such that it promised a violent reckoning to the one that had inspired it. It was exactly the kind of feeling she had expected of him, that insane determination, that uncompromising nature, and that ruthless ambition what had been needed for him to give the order against her. 

“I will NEVER forget all that YOU did to me.” She told him. “Every last sin...” Silmeria goaded him further, practically dared him to lash out at her. “And all the pain that resulted of it.”

She thought then of her sisters, of Hrist and of Lenneth, and of the pain that they too would be feeling. The horror and the shame, the grief and the duty expected of them. It wasn’t just Silmeria who had been hurt, and it wasn’t just Brahms who needed to make some amends. It was Silmeria, the one time Goddess knowing that it was her sins that had also played a part in the tragedy that had befallen their family. It wasn’t entirely her fault, but neither was Silmeria a complete innocent in all this. There was an explanation owed, an apology needed, and a reckoning to be had. 

She could almost see it. Almost imagine the disappointment of their expressions. The pain and the sorrow there, along with the oldest, Hrist, stern disapproval. It almost seemed to mild a word for what her militant sister would feel, Hrist the kind of Valkyrie to be horrified and angry with Silmeria’s poor judgment. With all the decisions she had made. Lenneth however, would be more understanding. It didn’t mean she wouldn’t feel any less angry and sad, but there was a chance that that sister would be able to grant Silmeria forgiveness.

She didn’t expect anything more than that. She couldn’t, Silmeria knowing what was now expected of her. Of them all, her sisters driven, their sacred mission that of ending the threat that Silmeria had now become. She couldn’t even spare them that much, not when Silmeria knew that she owed them the truth of all she had done. It might even be a little bit of selfish, Silmeria greedy, still grasping for a life she no longer had any right to. 

 

To Be Continued…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 8/14/2018 Shorter than usual chapter, I know….But as I neared the end, I had set myself up for something I want to explore in an opening paragraphs of a Brahms POV chapter. However right now I am not sure about the ending of this one. But everything I tried to add to the Silmeria POV, at this point, just feels rambling and out of place. So right now I consider this chapter done, but who knows. Maybe I will come back and tinker and add some more to the ending..I really don’t know.
> 
> I had a love hate relationship with this chapter, a lot of ups and downs. I would get in the zone, it would start flowing for me, then I would get hungry or otherwise interrupted, and lose my flow...and have to spend hours if not days trying to get back into it...hoo boy.
> 
> \---Michelle


	11. Eleven

Silmeria was infuriating. Absolutely and unequivocally maddening, a volatile storm of emotion alight inside him. His frustration abound, it and his mad lust raging on inside him, Brahms wanting to both shake her and to pin her, to kiss away all her stubborn half truths, the lies that she clung to, that Silmeria continued to let deceive her. She tried to use it as a shield, tried to hide with it, the doubts and insecurities that the vampire already knew that the young woman has had. That stubborn and near unrelenting denial, it and that kernel of fear, it greatly chipped away at Brahms’ patience, the male nearly at his breaking point, after being tried and tested so sorely this evening. Silmeria was to blame for that too, all her hostilities and protests, and most of all her desires working together to bring them to this point. To this boiling inferno of want and need, Brahms ill prepared for the temptations the Valkyrie had inadvertently offered him. 

She wasn’t in control of that, not entirely. Brahms knew and understood that, but it didn’t keep the frustrations at bay. He wanted her to feed, but more than that, he NEEDED Silmeria. Needed her on every level, the entire fiber of his being screaming of his want. It had taken all of his control, all of his sense of decency and rationale of right versus wrong, to keep from escalating things too far. It hadn’t stopped his hands from gripping her, from hauling Silmeria into place over the part of him that competed with his heart when it came to the hurt of his wanting. He positively ached for her, from the beating of his heart, to the fangs in his mouth, to the rock hard erection her provocations had brought to vital life.

It all went unsatisfied. SHE went unsatisfied, Brahms knowing that as much as he shook with that desire, Silmeria’s need was proving even greater. It left her at war with herself, that hunger fighting against her beliefs, Silmeria frightened and growing increasingly angry as a result. With it, that anger fueled her protests, her denials, the former Valkyrie fighting to cling to that which she had always known. But her world was now in shambles, and no amount of lying to herself would truly fix it. The only path left to her was the truth, the undeniable facts of an existence whose memories were locked into blood. Hers, his, Creation itself, Brahms held the ability to open Silmeria’s eyes to what Odin had tried to hide. Not even her stubborn refusals, her frayed beliefs, and the fright she was battling with, would keep her from it, from him, for forever. Already signs of a weakness was there, Silmeria hungry for Brahms’ blood. For more than his blood, if the signs of her earlier behavior were to be believed.

He shuddered in place, Brahms curling clawed fingertips into a fist at just the memory of Silmeria on his lap. That look in her eyes, that wicked sensuality, that open hunger, the way that one desire had spiraled out of control into a more bodily one, Silmeria having pressed herself against the vampire. She had been so enamored of his blood, but also of his body, the Valkyrie lost in the moment. She had been herself, and yet she hadn’t, the rationale gone from her, all crazed instinct and desire guiding her, her own hesitations, both private and known stripped away, Silmeria tearing apart Brahms’ vest, to run blood stained hands over him. She had been most eager as he had in turn, Brahms unable to completely keep from misbehaving, his insolent fingers gripping her hips but otherwise staying frozen in place. 

It had been more of a struggle than he had ever anticipated, Brahms not expecting to be tempted at this level so soon. As a vampire, he had known Silmeria would have lusted for his blood, but that desire she had expressed for his body? That had taken him by some measure of surprise, the Lord of the Undead not having realized just how strongly Silmeria must have admired him on a physical level. It gave him a renewed hope to know that the young woman had not been so impervious to the vampire as a man. It made it both easy and difficult, the physical attraction such that it made it harder for them both to keep lust in all it’s forms at bay, Brahms innately knowing that the Valkyrie herself needed to come to terms with all of her wants and desires. Silmeria needed to accept them, just as she needed to accept Brahms and the new life that he had given her. The truth and her true nature, the person, the woman, that she was actually meant to be, rather than Silmeria staying locked into the rigid structure of an existence as one of Odin’s puppets.

It was both freedom and responsibility Brahms had given to Silmeria, the woman poised to discover the highs and lows, the joys and the sorrows that came from truly LIVING. The ironic thing was that the Valkyrie was giving that back to him in spades, Brahms realizing that for all he had survived, he had never lived beyond a bitter need to right Creation’s many wrongs. He had lived out of necessity, so many owed what Brahms was trying to restore to them, but until Silmeria, the vampire lord had never acted on so selfish a want, and never had he done so purely for his own desire. 

With a desire that drove him even now, that had led Brahms to do countless cruelties in the pursuit of it, so many sins laid upon HIM as a result, the very least that the man could do was to respect the woman that was at the center of it all. It was a respect that went beyond Silmeria as a person, boundaries needing to be established and heeded. He couldn’t, wouldn’t take her bodily, not until Silmeria herself knew of, accepted, and eagerly welcomed the marriage of their flesh. To do otherwise was a disservice to them both, and one that Silmeria might never be able to forgive. In a lengthy list of wrong, that one sin was the threshold that bordered between a chance for love’s redemption and hate’s damnation. 

Even with knowing and understanding that, it was still just short of impossible to resist her. The temptation was always there, to touch, to steal, to yield. He would have gladly surrendered to her just about anything and everything for just the promise of her lips. To be offered more than that was a dream, her willing and eager body in tantalizing reach. Unprepared for anything more than her fang’s bite, it had taken steely levels of strength to maintain a defense against the Valkyrie’s seductions. He had faltered but not outright failed, the touch on the hips aside, but Brahms also couldn’t claim it a true victory. Not when it wasn’t he who had bolted, but that of Simeria, the newly made vampire coming to her senses. 

It was unheard of, a newly made fledgling lusting to that point, that the hunger she had felt, should have kept her irrational until after Silmeria had fully fed from his vein. She had been that far gone, the innate nature of her affliction, the predator inside her having overrode all sense of inhibitions. Yet somehow she had come back from it, with neither blood nor help from Brahms. Was it what she had been, was it what she now was, that odd mix of vampire Valkyrie hybrid? She had already exhibited so much that wasn’t natural when it came to a newly risen fledgling, leaving Brahms to again wonder just what he had created in blessing her with the change, the potential there for Silmeria to become more than just his equal when it came to love and respect, but also when it came to strength and speed. Already perfect, she had been made even more so in Brahms’ eyes, Silmeria beautiful, noble, curious and strong, that underlying passion and stubborn determination only magnified a dozen times over, the former Valkyrie a challenge like no other. She tried and tested him it was true, frustrated, even angered him at times, but even more, she impressed upon him just how right a fit she was for one such as he.

If only Silmeria would see it. If only she would acknowledge that part of him, the half of his self that not only matched with hers, but had the potential to bring out the best in them BOTH. That grounding, calming force to the passions inside them, the Valkyrie the catalyst that could tip them all over from disaster and ruin to something more than just a companionable peace. An end to the loneliness, both his and hers, to the differences that had isolated them both throughout the long eternity. Yes, he had his people, and she has had her sisters, but always, a part of them had existed as separate, the odd pair out in the vast expanse of Creation.   
Marked by and targeted by the truth of his blood, the knowledge in his soul, and the very sins he had lived through, Brahms had found his ideal, a woman he could not only love but risk confiding all to. The irony wasn’t lost on him, that his perfect match was that of a minor deity in her own right, Silmeria a Valkyrie Goddess who had fought him to her dying breath. That still fought against him now, the woman in denial, angry and lashing out, refusing to see, to feed, actively turning her nose up at the truth that Brahms tried to give to her. The vampire shouldn’t be surprised or disappointed. He shouldn’t! Not after all the work he has had to put in, Brahms having pursued the Valkyrie for so long, even across her brief time spent as a mortal when drugged half out of her mind, and even then Silmeria had managed to put up some measure of fight. Some resistance against his compulsions. As a Goddess and as a human, she had fought, the woman prepared to do the same to the bitter end as a vampire now. 

Blood both freedom and foil now, Silmeria had an ultimately futile battle against resisting it’s temptations. Even she had to have known it, the woman pinning all of her desperation and hopes on a salvation that wouldn’t come. On those sisters of hers, honor bound not just by their sacred duty, but by their familial ties. It left him, left them, all in an unenviable position, a life and death battle of which there would be only one victor. 

Silmeria was right to hate him, to despise and to loathe Brahms for all he had done, for the resulting pain that had spilled over onto so many. Silmeria, her sisters, even on his own people, Brahms made dirty and weighted down by the sins and the mistakes of his own selfish desire. The woman who was it’s physical manifestation made real, Silmeria every secret wish, every unspoken hope and dream, of a heart that had craved an end to it’s loneliness. 

The chance existing within her, Brahms could only keep faith that Silmeria would someday in the long expanse of eternity, find it within her heart, to forgive him for all the wrong he had done her. It and all the hurt he had caused her family, all the pain he would cause yet. For even more were slated to die, divine and undead alike, Odin himself would see to it, demand it, the God not satisfied until the truth’s threat was completely wiped from this world. That more than a millennia had passed without Odin succeeding in that particular endeavor, didn’t lessen the God’s ruthless zeal one bit. He was as desperate as he was determined, as calculating as he was deceiving, Odin using any and all means to keep hold of Creation. From the Valkyries and the souls of the fallen, to the heavens itself used to tempt and seduce those into taking up the sword in his name, Odin was a master at manipulation. A liar and more, the God trampled upon the world, in his efforts to keep it.

Few if any could see it. Even less could believe it. Those that did, fell into one of two camps. The undead followers that Brahms himself had cultivated into an army against Odin’s evil, and that of Queen Hel’s, that select group of mortals whose personal greed and ambition was greater than any desire for salvation. The Goddess eagerly welcome those tired of and doubting Odin’s way of things, and even those that DIDN’T. It was her realm that all those deemed unworthy ultimately ended up in. The good and the bad, sinner and saint alike, enduring Hel’s torture for all of eternity. It was their souls that were at Hel’s command, to play with and pit against any and all who dared try to trespass against the Goddess’ domain.

Bolstered by that odd mix of spirits, both souls and demons alike, Hel played one powerful third the part of those who would wrest hold of Creation, and guide it’s course. It was a battle seemingly without an end, this war of attrition, resources exhausted, extinguished, even eventually replaced. Destined to last perhaps the entire length of eternity, Brahms himself had seemingly stumbled, exposing a weakness for both Odin and Hel to exploit.

Silmeria.

She could prove Brahm’s greatest strength, bolstering his spirits when he had need of that the most. Supporting him, loving him, fighting with Brahms instead of against him, Silmeria was that which has brought light and laughter and interest back into his long lived life. She was an end to his personal exhaustion, the frustration that had had Brahms doubting the point of it all. Revitalized by her, by their every encounter, Brahms had found a renewed purpose, one that extended past carving out an existence for his vampires. He was fighting for HER, for Silmeria and the others like her, to finally live, to finally be able to embrace the individuals they had been meant to actually be.

Just as Silmeria gave Brahms an even greater incentive to fight, the Valkyrie also had within her slender frame, the ability to absolutely devastate him. With her words, with her every rejection, and with the target he had helped make of her. She had been one long before the vampire had gifted her with his bite, Silmeria standing revealed to all as a weakness to exploit. It had been obvious almost from the first real attention he had paid to her, and every encounter after had only cemented it as fact. Such a careless tact on his part, Brahms was amazed and he was suspicious, often speculating as to why Odin hadn’t tried to kill Silmeria SOONER. 

Brahms’ infatuation with Silmeria had been both a weakness and a distraction, and that was something Odin had surely thought to make use of. It was the only reason why the God would have kept Brahms’ one bit of happiness alive, why he wouldn’t have ended her sooner. He had counted on the vampire’s attention to split, for a misstep that would at last lead to the end of Brahms’ threat. To his LIFE. Odin toying with him, with them, keeping Silmeria alive long enough in the hopes someone or something would get that fatal blow in. 

To all outside observers, nothing had. Not Odin, not his Valkyries, not Hel and her demons, Brahms rippling with strength and endurance, and never once so much as faltering. They wouldn’t know how close in truth Brahms had been, how that fatal blow had not come to his body, but instead etched a downright lethal strike to his soul. To his HEART. It had nearly shattered into pieces, all rhyme and reason, nearly his very sanity, torn away at word of Silmeria’s accident. The crippling devastation done to her, the young Goddess’ life all but lost if not for the timely arrival of her oldest sister Hrist. It was the dark haired Valkyrie who had saved them BOTH, Silmeria rescued, and with it Brahm’s own state of mind. He had still been that short of unreasonable, angered beyond all measure. At his own failures, and that of his people, the elite group of warriors that had been specifically chosen for this task. The kidnapping turned disaster, the accident that had nearly seen Silmeria ended, her body torn open and mutilated. 

Inconsolable at just the thought of Silmeria’s pain, Brahms had lashed out. Had vented his rage and his sorrow, a cold hard justice being executed for those that had failed him. Not one of those warriors had survived into the next night, not a single one had been granted any true measure of mercy. Those he hadn’t ripped apart with his bare hands, Brahms had left staked and stewing over their missteps and failures, as they were slowly roasted alive by the sun’s dawning light.

He could concede that it might have been a bit of an overreaction. There was even a measure of guilt, those vampires slain otherwise loyal and capable to a fault. Elder elites that had had friends and families, that had held high positions in his court, that had turned the tide numerous times in battle. Yet for that same fighting prowess, Brahms faulted them, thinking there should have been no problem in apprehending one single Valkyrie Goddess. 

The blame wasn’t theirs alone, Brahms angry, hating and hurting, and full of self loathing. For the decision he had made, the counsel he had followed, the Vampire King choosing to let another lead the elite in the extraction mission. He had cursed himself a fool for that. He still did, Brahms knowing he should have at the very least been near, to oversee and keep a tightly wrapped control of his people’s burgeoning blood lust.

The mistakes made the first time, had had to be learned from, Brahms present, and in control, monitoring the state of his vampire’s mental well being that next time. They had all been on edge, well aware of what an error could cost them, and even made bloated on blood, the accumulating tension had made more than a few fangs ache. 

They could all breathe a sigh of relief, now that that part of Brahms’ courtship was over and done with. But they could never forget, the rage and the ruthless lack of mercy of their King making many wary, even frightened of Brahms. There was resentment there amid his own people, the friends and families who had survived those so brutally slain, harboring hate and mistrust towards the Ancient that had ruled over them for so long. They didn’t care for his reasons, for the fact that his sanity had temporarily snapped. And few if any cared for the woman, the Goddess, Brahms had chosen to be his queen. 

Popularity plummeting, and impossible amends needing to be made, Brahms knew that he and Silmeria both had their work cut out for them where their people were concerned. Everything had spiraled so wildly out of control, nothing and no one in this situation anywhere like Brahms had imagined them to be. The vampire hadn’t expected to have a mental break from reality, he hadn’t expected to kill his own, nor had he anticipated the fall out that would result from that thoughtless an action. Most of all, he hadn’t thought to court Silmeria in THIS way, the choice completely taken from her, the woman turned into a vampire before she had been ready. There had been no helping that, her injuries such that to do anything less, would have been the utmost in cruelty. 

Silmeria couldn’t yet see it for the kindness that it was. The blessing that he had gifted her with, Brahms saving her from her pain, and from the injuries that had left her debilitated. Cripple no more, and made even better than she had been as a Goddess, his spirited little bride couldn’t muster up a word of thanks, no true gratitude in her heart. He couldn’t allow it to truly matter, the Lord of the Undead knowing the one time Valkyrie had a right to her anger. To ALL of it, every last bitter accusation and regret. To the loathing that she showed him, to attacks both vocal and physical, Silmeria damning him, even seeking to kill him. A pound of flesh was owed her, HIS, Brahms gladly giving himself over to her claws, fangs, and any other expression that her fury would manifest as.

A maelstrom of rage and hurts, the what if and should have been of the past haunting her as much as what her present reality now was, Brahms could only pin all his desperate hopes on Silmeria coming to forgive him. To not only granting him that, but that of her acceptance, and ultimately that of the love her heart was now so capable of.

Hope’s glimmer gleamed in reach, part and whole based on the woman’s primal reaction to him. That bodily interest, the lust that had been both for his blood and for Brahms as a man. Silmeria had been all sin and seduction then, oozing of need, her hunger taking on such a sexual slant. Her every action goading a reaction out of him, Silmeria had gone above and beyond what blood lust alone would have demanded. She had reacted in turn to him, to his nearness, to his virile masculinity, an appreciation there that had had nothing to do with his blood. That had been a pleasant as well as titillating and torturous discovery, an undeniable proof of the former Valkyrie’s physical attraction.

With that physical like, existed the chance for more. An opportunity to build on what was already there, Brahms’ complicated history with the Goddess, the encounters that they had had, every stolen moment, and drawn out rendezvous. Silmeria had tolerated him enough to talk with, to debate and to listen. She had put aside her sword once, and had continuously sought the vampire out. Had it just been idle interest, her own way to alleviate the fatigue of eternity’s boredom, or had the Valkyrie harbored a growing fascination with the Lord of the Undead? Brahms leaned towards the latter, and it was no idle boast to think that. Not with her behavior as it had been, the secret sojourns, and the hard won smiles. There had been a closeness there, a camaraderie, Silmeria for all her denials, flattered by Brahms’ interest. Flattered up until a point, up until he had tried to take that interest further.

The resulting arguments and rejections hadn’t put an end to that interest. If anything, it had made him burn hotter, Brahms thinking Silmeria a classic case of a woman protesting just a little too much. Angry and spooked, the Valkyrie had run from him, and she hadn’t stopped for the last half of this past century. Not even her injuries had truly stopped her, the blonde haired Goddess doing her utmost best to evade him. She still tried to, denying Brahms, denying her interest, and denying this fate that tied them together. She threw words at him as though they were projectiles, sharp tipped knives meant to pierce him with their poisonous sting. It was made all the worst, because Brahms knew that Silmeria meant it too, the woman unable to forget, not him, not her sisters, not every wrong he had committed against that family. Their history steeped in pain and tragedy, Brahms also couldn’t help but notice that the former Valkyrie had said little about forgiving him.

Bolstered by that, by the telling truth that even at her angriest, Silmeria wasn’t entirely shutting down the possibility of forgiveness, Brahms had to swallow down a measure of smugness. Of elation, the messiness of their past still holding that chance for forgiveness. He could have swept her in his arms then, so boosted by that happiness he should have been. But the haunted look of her expression, the tortured gleam in her blue eyes, stopped him up short. The pain of her thoughts, whatever they might be, rendered him near powerless in the moment, Brahms suddenly so unsure. This was wholly new ground for him, this act of loving another, of caring so deeply about their own thoughts and feelings, that his fell by the way side.

Willing to do almost anything to chase that look from her eyes, yet also knowing there was no helping it where her sisters were concerned, Brahms let out a breath he hadn’t been aware of holding. That seemed to draw Silmeria outwards, away from the worst of the thoughts hurting her. But what could Brahms say, what could he do, when his sorry wasn’t good enough, the vampire hardly repentant of his love. That love that still drove him, that would still lead him to be ruthless and without mercy where Silmeria’s sisters were concerned. The heavens alone wouldn’t be able to help them if they dared set foot on this island, if they dared raised a weapon towards their sister with a killing intent. 

Brahms wouldn’t be sorry. He couldn’t! There was however, another emotion that he could give voice to. That genuine sorrow, Brahms frustrated and regretting that things had come to that point, sisters targeting sister.

“I regret that things have to be this way.” He said out loud. The vampire couldn’t so much as bristle at the mocking sound that Silmeria had let out, that derisive scoff of sound. 

“What is is that you regret?” She spat out questions at him. “The woman you have taken by force, the many lives you have ruined, or that it’s all been for naught!? I will fight and hate you until my last breath, and heed me vampire, when I say that will be SOON!”

Her blue eyes had flashed with her defiance, Silmeria glaring at Brahms but maintaining her distance from him. Was it that she didn’t trust him, or that she didn’t trust HERSELF? At his step forward, and the sight of her nostrils flaring as she again scented his spilled blood, he decided the answer was BOTH. She was out of control, the hungers and feelings running wild through her, and that might be frightening the Valkyrie the most.

“You may fight me, you may even hate me for all of eternity, but the one thing I can guarantee will not be happening any time soon, is the last breath being yours.”

That sapphire gazed gleamed and narrowed, Silmeria enraged further. “If you think to lay a clawed finger on even ONE of my sisters….”

“I don’t think, I KNOW!” Brahms interrupted her. “If they dare come, if they dare try so much as one killing strike towards you, I will not hesitate to end their threat.”

“Monster!” She snarled. 

“I am not the monster who makes demands that sisters come kill their own!” Brahms pointed out. “I would gladly leave both your sisters be, but Odin won’t stand for it. It will be on his order and selfish decree, that those two won’t leave well enough alone. That they will come here HUNTING after you!”

“They come to save my SOUL!” Her voice was almost plaintive then.

“Your soul is not what is in danger. It has never been!” Brahms retorted. “It’s just another lie that Odin has told you, that he has led all of Creation to believe!”

“Vampires are a soulless existence, a race of beings without conscience or morals. Everyone knows that. EVERYONE!” She stressed, and now his gazed narrowed, crimson clashing with her blue.

“It’s not so much a matter of everyone knowing ANYTHING about us, but what they have been fed, the lies they have been told to believe.” He tried for a patience that was on edge, it’s dwindling supply brought on by her, by Silmeria’s open hostility and agitation, and that of the tension that existed between them both. She left him wild and reckless, his own temper and feelings trying to spiral out of his fraying control. He was almost reduced to a freshly made fledgling like that, Brahms’ own fangs and claws out, their lengthened appearance not so much a concrete decision as a bodily reaction that would take no heed of him. It left Brahms little better than a beast, the mad monster inside him, the parasitic predator that fed on his every dark emotion.

Both hunter and prey, it was that instinct inside him, that inner sliver of essence that tried to take command. He fought against it, and against the baiting that Silmeria tried to antagonize him with, Brahms willing himself to be thrice over damned before he gave in to the predatory half inside him. It was a struggle like no other, all the rigid control and inner strength he had built up and cultivated in his millennia long battle seemingly lost when centered around the bride that he had thought to claim.

The struggle had to have shown in his own eyes, but did Silmeria even notice it in the condition that she was in? Did she care, did she even think to heed the warning signs? Of course not, the woman glaring at him in challenge. 

“Why would Odin lie?” She asked, a toss of her head causing blonde curls to bounce. “Why would anyone try, about a fact easily proved!”

“Easily?” He snorted in disbelief. “And that is?”

“If vampires truly have souls, then WHERE do they go when they die for good!?” She had placed her hands on her hips, but then seemed to think better of it, at the feel of the tears Brahms’ own claws had made into the fabric of her gown. “Hmmm? Certainly not to the Heavens!”

“As if Odin would allow anyone there he cannot make use of!” Brahms shot back.

“Why couldn’t he?” Silmeria wanted to know. “You’re all fighters to some extent. Many of your kind have even died in battle! Why else would they not ascend to the rank of einherjar? Hmmm?” She was mocking in what the Valkyrie perceived to be HER win, but it was a bitter triumph that she felt. The hopelessness that never again would Silmeria be able to be a warrior for the Heavens, not with her soul gone the way she assumed it was. The woman was wrong on so much, and it was ever so tempting for Brahms to just snarl out the true reason why, tainted though her ability to believe would be. Words alone weren’t enough, especially not for one who held such a rigid faith in Odin’s many lies. To believe, she would need to see, to feel, TO LIVE the truth as Brahms had.

“Well?!” Her voice interjected a demand. “Is it really that difficult a question?”

“Difficult in ways you can’t begin to imagine.” The vampire muttered, trying to organize his thoughts, to grab hold of what slivers he could give to her. “Think of we vampires as a kind of….soul all uniquely our own.”

She blinked in reaction at that. “Now that is a stretch….”

“Is it?” Brahms challenged her. “When Odin has the einherjar, and Hel has the damned? Both call upon souls, both empower and give form to those they would make use of.”

“Are you daring to put yourself on the same level as the divine?” Silmeria was haughty in her retort, clearly thinking him mad. Her smirk gave way to shock, Brahms having told her that he considered himself somehow BETTER. 

Her mouth a round o of shock, Silmeria could only gape in flabbergasted silence at him. He wanted to laugh then, almost as much as he was tempted to kiss her, an open mouth display of tongue and teeth that was sure to leave the Valkyrie breathless. 

Somehow he resisted that urge, just barely, Brahms continuing to speak when it became clear Silmeria could not. “When an einherjar or damned fall in battle...just where do they go?”

“Pardon” A rapid blink of her eyes, Silmeria confused as well as shocked.

“The souls. When they die a SECOND time. What happens then?”

Her brow furrowed at that. “Nothing really. They just cease to be...”

“And what exactly happens to a vampire, a creature who had once lived as something else, what happens to them, to their essence, their soul, whatever you want to call it when THEY die?” Brahms inquired. She would have turned a red as dark as the blood drying on her dress, if Silmeria had only been full from a feeding. 

“That is not the same.” She stamped a foot in place at the mocking quirk of one dark eyebrow. “It’s NOT!” Silmeria insisted.

“It’s not any different either.” Brahms calmly pointed out. “On the chess board of Creation as it currently exists, all souls are just pieces on the playing field. Some of us just care more about those pieces than others do.” He felt at ease with that, knowing this part of the conversation hearkened back to things that they had endlessly discussed over the past few centuries. Words that could skirt the truth, without outright endangering Silmeria or her ability to believe when the time, the truth, finally came.

Her expression took on a sullen, moody cast to it, but she didn’t outright argue with him on that point. She couldn’t! Not when Silmeria had already expressed her own private doubts to him a long, long time ago, the woman troubled by Odin’s lack of mercy when it came to what kind of souls he would allow to reside up in the Heavens. She had never been able to defend that decree, anymore than Silmeria had been able to find a real justification for it. Few if any could, even less cared to try, and was it any wonder that Brahms’ and that Hel’s armies were growing?

The vampires weren’t the only ones unhappy. There was the damned, those deemed unworthy and abandoned by Odin, shuttled off to the netherworld and Hel’s torturous embrace. When pitted against the two, was it any surprise that to some, that Brahms’ kind seemed the lesser of two evils? If only Silmeria was one of them! If only she would truly open her eyes, and embrace Brahms and the truths he had for her. It was too much to hope for, on this, the first night of her awakening. The vampire could push and push her all that he liked and have it result in little save for Silmeria to run from him, from his blood, and from the truth that he was almost desperate to reveal to her.

Running is what she had proved good at, and it was what Brahms would no longer truly let her do. He took comfort from the rune etched into the window’s glass, the magic a spell meant to keep a vampire trapped. Ultimately, it would leave her with little real choice save to face the truth of what she was, of what THEY were, and the harsh realities of the world, of Creation and what it should have been versus what it currently now was.

They had all the time in the world, and yet they did NOT, for a pursuit was coming. An invasion, Odin’s elite, the Valkyries coming for one of their own. It fed into Brahms’ desperation, the idea of Silmeria’s two sisters coming to the island. The vampire didn’t fear fighting either one of them, no. He did however, fear what he would have to do TO them, and what Silmeria’s reaction to it would be. The line that would be crossed, the forgiveness that might be lost for good, Brahms almost crazed with the need for Silmeria to learn of and embrace the truth before that could happen. Would the truth make it any easier for the young woman to swallow what would happen to her sisters? Would it make her any more capable of understanding just why Brahms had taken the measures that he had? Would it make any sort of difference, save to make her hate Odin as much as she had claimed to hate Brahms? Or would she end up hating them both? The answers all uncertain, drove him mad in a different way, knowing fate was unkind, but was it so markedly so?

Once he might have laughed then and there, ever so sure of the answer. Brahms life had been one hardship after another, the world itself against him, but then Silmeria had been born. In a life of untold pain and hate, heaped upon by unrelenting cruelty and harassment, something had seen fit to gift him with that. With HER, Silmeria that certain something that had been missing, the vital everything that had reminded Brahms that life was truly worth living. The fight renewed within him, new life given to the purpose that had driven him, the Vampire King finally had a reason to go on beyond that relentless need to right Creation’s wrongs.

He hadn’t abandoned that need, hadn’t turned his back on the world or that of his immediate people. But no longer was Brahms so single mindlessly focused, his razor sharp tunnel vision now able to see past Odin and an end game based solely on righting the world’s many wrongs. The Vampire Lord had balanced in time for himself, fitting in need of a more personal slant, the love and companionship that so many had deemed selfish, Brahms himself included. There was guilt with that thought, an admission of wrong, his desire such that he done some terrible things in the pursuit of it. He had hurt people, he had hurt himself, but most of all, Brahms had done near unforgivable damage to Silmeria’s own sense of well being. 

Stalked as she had been, hunted and hurt, Silmeria had a right to her loathing. To her hate. Brahms hadn’t the ability to change the past, but he held on to the hope of a future that they could forge together. If only she would abandon Odin’s ways, the Valkyries’ mind set pushed completely to the side, Silmeria able to see things in a new light. Able to see HIM, the young woman at last being able to look past his sins and the nature of his beast, to go beyond the monster and embrace the man that he was in truth. Once she had almost been able to. Once Silmeria had put aside the vampire aspect of him, not considering him a friend, but neither had Brahms been her true foe. It was his misstep that had ruined it, his interest that had frightened her so. That blatant desire brought out of the shadows, Silmeria confronted with and spooked by it.

She wasn’t a coward to have run from him, Silmeria was one to have attempted to run from her own feelings. From the desire she might have returned, the desire that Brahms now knew for certain she had. No amount of denial would change what she had done, how she had acted, when caught in the frenzy of BOTH her hungers.

With that thought in mind, and fighting the smile that lurked at the corners of his mouth, Brahms broke the silence that had been stretching out between them. “To feel so strongly can be both a blessing and a curse. You can fight against it, deny it, but the one thing you cannot do is hide from the magnitude of your emotions. Your hatreds and desires.”

“It is unnatural!” Silmeria shook her head no. “No one should be this out of control!”

“It’s unsettling, I’ll give you that. But in time, you will not only get used to it, you will learn to master your instinct’s worst impulses. You will be in control then, no longer a victim or slave to every emotion that spikes in your thoughts. You will be able to pick and choose what feeling to act on.” He was approaching her again, watching as Silmeria flattened herself against the damaged wall. She looked absolutely feral in the moment, all wild eyed and wary, her delicate little fangs flashing with her snarl, her nails curled into claws as the woman crouched there in a torn and bloodied dress.

“Even more, you will learn how to show only what you WANT to be seen.” He told her, and caught at the wrist of the hand that had just taken a swing at him. His wasn’t a cruel grasp, but neither was it one he would allow her to break free of. With his thick fingers gripping her wrist, Brahms held Silmeria’s hand up, so that light glinted off those sharp tipped nails. Those claws, vicious and deadly, and so telling a sign of her agitation, of her anger, and of Silmeria’s fear.

“Only then, will this not be such a problem.” Brahms continued, staring past her claws, to that narrowed gaze of blue. “A fledgling’s fangs and their claws, are the most telling sign of their weakness and strengths. Control that, and you’re one step closer to corralling the worst of your most base instincts.”

“I hate it.” It whispered out of her as a hiss, Silmeria locking eyes with him. “I hate this change, and the feelings brought with it. What is it about being undead that renders one so out of control!?”

He considered her and that question carefully. Haunted blue eyes stared accusingly at him while Brahms thought it over, the young woman making no further attempt to pull her wrist free of him. “I suppose that is because in many ways, we are a dual existence.”

She frowned at that. He supposed he couldn’t blame her, the idea so fantastical, so surreal, that it was hard to even grasp a concept of, let alone truly understand. Certainly he had struggled with it himself, Brahms not only trying to make sense of it, but actively fighting against that thing inside him. That darkness that can and had lost itself to blood lust. Not once, not twice, not even just a dozen times, but hundreds, the number more apt to be closer to a thousand than not. By all rights, the Vampire King should have been lost, permanently rendered Revenant, left without any guiding force but his own will and stubborn determination to bring him back from that chasm’s abyss. Brahms hadn’t just teetered at the edge, he had plummeted past it, years and years given over to that feral state.

He’d see to it himself that the same wouldn’t happen to Silmeria, Brahms keeping her sane and above all safe. It was the right that he owed her, as both the young woman’s sire and her would be lover. With Brahms as her guide, Silmeria need never know the true extent of the darkness that would run itself rampant inside her.

“As a vampire, you are both instinct and reason, the unreasonable versus sane rational.” He said as an attempt to explain it. “We are both the hunted and the hunter, freed by and alternatively enslaved by our capacity to feel. By our emotions, that chaotic ebb something that must be mastered and embraced.”

“How?” It was almost plaintive, that voice, Silmeria almost hollow eyed with desperation. “How do I get control of that wild part inside me?”

“Blood helps.” She stiffened at that, making a strangled sound of protest. “It is very much that nourishing source that sustains us. Just as the food, the cattle killed, the crops harvested, sustain others, the effect is the same. It gives life, it gives energy, but more than that, it gives focus. It centers one’s thoughts, it calms one’s mood, and above all, it gives the strength needed to fight and persevere. It keeps the beast at bay, brings light to the darkness inside us, and civilizes the worst of gut impulse and instinct.”

She was still in doubt, that much anyone could see. Brahms struggled not with patience, but with the words, centuries having past since he has had to instruct a young fledgling on the way of things. 

“You’ve seen the irrational side of human emotion, yes?” He asked her, and received Silmeria’s nod. “How they are more prone to fits of anger and sudden bursts of hostility when a need isn’t met? When their hunger has been neglected for too long, don’t they become sullen and moody, confrontational, even unreasonable?”

“Yes….” One word, an almost reluctant admission.

“Then you’ve also surely noticed, how much better they act, when their stomach is satisfied. Amazing that, how we are all so different, and yet in this one aspect, all creatures mirror each other. Everything from man to animal to insect, we all need to eat to live and think clearly, lives sacrificed to that hunger, a survival of the fittest that is as bloody as it is deadly.”

She wasn’t swayed, Silmeria’s eyes taking on a defiant light. “Not all hungers need end in death.”

“You’re right.” Brahms agreed. “Milk and eggs can be harvested without death resulting, but so too can blood be taken, without a sacrifice. You already KNOW this Silmeria, the ones Odin’s kind refer to as thralls, being prime example of a blood host.” 

Familiar ground though the topic of thralls might be, Silmeria was no less distressed now then she had been then. “Your kind reduce people to nothing more than animals, to live stock and cattle!” She shook her head then. “No worse than that, you make them blood whores, enslaved to the bite, simpering and scampering to do your dirty work all to feed their own lust. You manipulate desire to make your thralls addicted to the abuse.”

“Have you forgotten EVERYTHING I have ever told you?” He couldn’t help but sound aghast, Brahms frustration making itself known. It showed in his eyes, that crimson gleaming a dark blood red, as he frowned down at the young woman whose wrist he still had captive in his grip. He couldn’t reconcile with the idea that she would insist on maintaining such a willful ignorance, spouting Odin’s falsities as though they were absolute truths. Especially not after all he had shared with her, the truths she had once appeared to at least listen to, now stubbornly tossed aside.

Memories of conversations bubbled up within him, Brahms almost hurting Silmeria in how harsh his fingers’ grip had become. Of the times where they had talked and debated, actively discussed Brahms’ truth versus what the rest of what Creation spoke about in horrified whispers. He might not have swayed her entirely, but neither had Silmeria been ready to dismiss all the vampire had to say as lies. 

Silmeria’s whole demeanor had turned evasive, the wary blue of her eyes now shifting away to focus on something other then Brahms. “Have you!?” He all but roared, fighting the urge to shake her entirely. She still wouldn’t look at him, that stubborn set to her lower lip, Silmeria intent on torturing him with her silence. 

“Silmeria!” She must have took heed of the desperate menace in his tone, Silmeria suddenly snarling at him. 

“I have NOT!” She growled, her blue eyes ablaze. “I remember every last word, as well as the fact that for all your vaunted truths about Odin’s supposed deception, you have had nothing to substantiate the claims! Nothing that is, save for the blood in your veins! The blood you are so desperate for me to partake in. You think me so stupid? So weak?! So gullible, as to damn myself and my soul all on the chance that your version of the world is the right one!?”

“Isn’t it a chance worth taking?” His was a quiet tone, in comparison to her wild snarling.

“NO!” She was fighting against his hold, so violent and desperate, that it left him with one of two choices. Crush her slender wrist, or let go. Brahms chose the latter, no desire inside him to abuse her beyond all that had already been done.

She all but fell over with the sudden freedom, Silmeria hissing at Brahms, her anger and her embarrassment having spiked with that lack of momentary grace. He could relate to the anger, could even sympathize with her mortification, but neither could he hide how exasperated she was making him. Or how much she tried at his finite patience.

“I’ve thought you many things.” He began, a tremor of his angry frustration betrayed in his voice. “Never once did I think you a coward. Never once did I think that, not even when you ran from me.”

“And now!?” She challenged, and his silence was enough of an answer. “I am not scared of the truth.” Silmeria was defiant. “Whatever it may turn out to truly be. No, what scares me, what I cannot accept, is losing my soul so completely, the idea of willfully damning it so utterly that nothing of ME will be left salvageable. If by refusing to condemn my soul to an eternity of blood and heartless massacre, then yes, I am a coward.”

The words’ burn wasn’t soothed by the fact that she had stepped towards him, that Silmeria now stood toe to toe against him in her satin made slippers. Her torn and tattered gown, the blood staining it, couldn’t take away from her haughty superiority, the woman every inch the proud Valkyrie as she looked down her nose at him.

“I will NEVER feed.” 

“Soon you won’t even have the luxury of choice!” Brahms told her. “That hunger inside you will grow, and grow until it is all you can think of, it’s satisfaction all that you will want. You will feed. The only thing up to debate is if you will hurt someone in the process!”

He had the satisfaction of her startled gasp, the dismay in her eyes and then Brahms was turning. Long powerful stride brought him to the room’s only door, something fragile smashing into the wall just to the side of his head. He didn’t stop, he didn’t so much pause to look back in reproach, the vampire opening the door and then leaving. 

Brahms wished that he could leave his disappointment behind, just as easily as he had left Silmeria, but such tortured feelings and dashed hopes weren’t something even the Lord of the Undead could shake free of. Even knowing they had been just this shade of unreasonable, Brahms having known better than to wish for more, on this the first night of the Valkyrie’s awakening. And still he had let them build, Brahms desire so great that he had dared to dream Silmeria would submit to it.

He held in his frustrated moan, unwilling to concede so weak a sound to the rest of the castle. Brahms had no doubt the rest of his court had been paying strict attention to the King and Queen’s drama, the building made too quiet for anything but eavesdropping. Everyone knew of the night’s failures, Of Brahms inability where Silmeria was concerned, and of the Valkyrie’s stubborn cling to her old and false beliefs.

Odds seeming near insurmountable in the moment, Brahms still did not lose his determination. He’d get Silmeria to accept her new life, just as he would get his vampires to accept their new Queen. 

 

To Be Continued…..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1/18/2019 Finally finished eleven! Though at the time of writing this note, I still have to do a proof read through. This Brahms chapter was a bonus in a way. In the original draft of OSVP, eleven had switched back to the Flenceburg side of things. But in the revamp I had ended ten, knowing I wanted to switch to a Brahms point of view, and work in some stuff. Sadly I don’t feel like I fit everything in, and at times it was so difficult to write, cause it’s hard for me to have Brahms hint at the truth without outright going into full on facts from the origin part of the story. Which isn’t destined to happen until the mid 30’s or so….
> 
> In the original ten, there was a point where Silmeria brings up that Brahms rules over ALL the undead, and how those lesser creatures so brutally massacre the living to feed their own hungers. But as I was working on writing out eleven, I abandoned trying to fit that in at this point of the story. Why? Because I realized everything can’t seem as if it’s the first time they are discussing these things. In other words, I want to hopefully work in a memory or flashback, or one of their times when they debated each other...before Brahms blew the peace by revealing his desire for Silmeria (Which set her on a course of running away.).
> 
> I also want to thank my good friend, my bestie Huntress. For all the hand holding and enthusiasm. I probably tortured her with all the excerpts I kept showing her, but really if it wasn’t for her encouragement, and insisting I keep what I had written out, I think I would have had a fit, and trashed MOST of this chapter. She was confidant FOR ME, and she even caught a mistake, when I had written something in a confusing way and hadn’t realized it. (It was the opening of a paragraph where Brahms was trying to explain a vampire’s dual existence. I had to tweak the first words of the opening sentence, to correct it so it would make sense.) So yes, thank you Huntress, for the valuable input!
> 
> Now if you don’t mind me, I will be in a corner, torturing myself over checking in on the Flenceburg side of the story….
> 
> \----Michelle


	12. Twelve

The gauntlet had been thrown, only the latest of what might number in the eventual thousands. Such a blatant challenge hadn’t first started in the garden, Lenneth finding the fires of resistance had been forged inside her from the moments before she had ever been forced to swallow down Odin’s potion. That spark of fury, that rigid determination to deny it, to defy the fate set out before her, had given way like kindling to a flame, an inferno blazing bright inside her. With it’s power, Lenneth had rebelled, had fought to retain some semblance of her true self. 

It was the impossible that she had sought. The chance, as unlikely as it should have been, to try and change the path that had been forced on her. With tooth and nail had Lenneth fought, it and the injustice of what had befallen her and that of her sisters, all its unfairness that which had given the platinum haired Valkyrie just a small kernel of the strength needed. That sliver thin source a remnant of the woman, the Goddess, she had once been, it was not some love addled mortal who had awakened to Lezard Valeth’s kiss.

That had been her SECOND act of defiance, the rejection of the man, the husband, who sought to claim her body and her heart. It hadn’t been easy. It still wasn’t, the love potion’s effects still taking a toll on her. Even as she balked against it taking a complete hold of her, those slivers of love wound their way through her thoughts and into her heart. It left Lenneth to be on constant guard, fighting against the feelings that pressed their demand on her. The urges that tried to soften her towards playing Lezard’s ideal.

Refusing it all, the man and the woman Lezard would have her be, the King and the magic that would see her enslaved, Lenneth’s existence was that of an open rebellion. A protest, the woman laying a challenge down to both her God and her husband to be. She’d fight, both them and herself, Lenneth determined to not roll over so easily to the love that was now a poison in her veins. 

Made sick by it, and by what it would have her do, it was an uphill battle that Lenneth has waged, some moments more difficult than others. That insipid love, those traitorous desires, the urges that they both had inspired, left Lenneth dangling on the precipice. Those moments when she has had to pull back, where she has had to fight harder than ever to resist, should have been a breaking point. It had left her angry instead, Lenneth made mad and seeing red. It was that anger that had gotten her through so much, that had kept her from falling into love’s endless abyss.

That mad fury raging on inside her, it’s existence was made all the more potent and powerful with every tidbit of information that Lenneth managed to glean, the horrors of the truth that now surrounded her. Nothing had the power to enrage her any further than that of her husband to be. The NECROMANCER that shouldn’t have even been suffered to live. His criminal nature was a direct affront to every belief and truth Lenneth had ever held, the man’s sins such that his soul was made black with them. Offended by it, by him, by the touch of him on her, the Valkyrie had had no qualms in letting him know of her ardent displeasure. Of her DISGUST. It had been just another gauntlet thrown, the defiance and derision such, that Lezard should have crumpled before it. He had NOT, the man taking the blow to his ego, and offering one up of his own. A threat, thinly veiled though it might have been, Lenneth the one made chilled by the words. By the opportunity that Lezard voiced thought to use, the advantage he thought to take.

She had gone cold inside, that ice the only thing that could account for the shaking her body had done. The trembling, Lenneth all a quiver with her unease. In that moment, she had been more bark than bite, making one last defiant stand as the hostile warning had spilled across her lips.

“I’ll fight it, and I’ll fight you.” Lenneth had said. She had been both woman and Valkyrie in that moment, holding the worry of one and the fury of the other, both halves of her nature in agreement against Lezard. So united in thought and intent, it had been their hostility that had shown in her eyes. That resentment, that of every last Valkyrie forced and the innate fear that was born in the soul of every woman to have ever existed, Lenneth ready to take it all out on Lezard. 

It was a fight that Lenneth had known that she couldn’t have won, not as she now was, a mortal pitted against his magic. That soft vulnerability a weakness for any to exploit, Lenneth also had not been able to back down from the challenge that she had offered him. The words she had spoken, the disgust and derision that she had shown him. The Valkyrie had been prepared for brutality, for abuse, but not the sadness of his smile, or the tired bitterness creeping into the man’s expression.

It wasn’t a loss, but neither was it a win, the stark emotion that had laid vulnerable on his face, gutting something inside Lenneth. It was Odin’s magic upon her, it’s touch leaving her weak, to Lezard and his softer feelings, the Valkyrie held at bay by its leash. Its love his advantage, Lenneth had only been able to stand rigid with her attempt to fight off the worst of it’s effects. 

It was difficult, so so difficult, and not even the truth of just WHAT he was, could make it any less. That love that tried to take hold of her, that tried to squeeze down on Lenneth with its all encompassing grip. It pushed and it prodded at her, tried and tested any weakness found, the love slipping in past many of the Valkyrie’s defenses. Not even her disgust could stand strong against it, the anger that fueled the fire inside her unable to outright hate him. She could loathe Lezard, despise him, even fear him, but the one thing she was helpless against, was the love that refused to take her no for an answer. It didn’t just lay in wait, it actively fought against her, tempering the worst of what she could give him.

Vigilance was the key. The dividing line between victory and defeat, and hers was a tireless opponent. That love had the advantage over her, and would ALWAYS have it. Ultimately, the Valkyrie was fighting a battle that not one of her kind had ever been able to win, Odin’s will and his alchemic genius absolute. The inevitable was before her, and yet Lenneth still wouldn’t give in. She couldn’t, everything, her honor, her sense of self, her very beliefs, would be lost otherwise.

It was a futile battle but it wasn’t without point. Her pride was on the line, Lenneth refusing to go meekly to her fate. She’d not easily become his doll, his play thing to mold and use as his desire saw fit. The Goddess waged a war that she could not hope to win, but for now? Now Lenneth would be content to win the more immediate battle. And the ones after, a whole succession of them, that might just last a day, or it might last a few weeks. Even a second more free was precious, Lenneth savoring every moment, every thought and feeling that was HERS and not that of Odin’s wretched enchantment.

The sapphire shade of her eyes blazed, a willful defiance and stubborn determination visible to all who cared to truly see. Tortured she might be, but the one thing Lenneth was not, was a woman who was completely love addled. It was a fierce loveliness that only added to her beauty and worth, the Valkyrie unwittingly becoming even more of a temptation than the first time that Lezard had sighted her.

Like a moth to a flame, it drew him near, his expression tight with some emotion that she could not outwardly acknowledge. The bitterness and the sadness was at war with the longing alight in that amethyst colored gaze, and she was in denial, Lenneth choosing to interpret that reverent awe as nothing more than a sexual hunger.

Hackles raised, Lenneth was spoiling for a fight. For the soothing solace that she had only ever been able to truly find in the midst of battle. She was ill equipped for it now, having neither weapon to hold, nor armor to shield her, and words alone had never been the Valkyrie’s strong point. She was blind in the moment, unable to see, to reason, let alone realize the effect her response was truly having on that man. She hurt him without even trying, that kernel of fear, that outright loathing, all a rejection that had Lezard sagging in place as though wounded. 

For one second, he lay defeated, and then Lezard was drawing himself upright, all rigid and tall and ever so determined. With an unyielding grace, one long, elegant looking finger, pushed at his gold rimmed glasses. Was that HIS metaphoric armor sliding into place, the man seeming to draw strength with his regained composure. 

“I can see that you are still tired.”

She couldn’t stop the derisive sound from escaping her, Lenneth scoffing at the very idea. “I have slept more than enough to last me several lifetimes.”

“That may be….but tired doesn’t always equate to needing sleep.” He told her. “There has been a lot to take in, a lot of shocks and unpleasantness, your whole world as you have known it, changed in an instant.”

That was such an understatement in Lenneth’s opinion, the woman giving a vicious nod of her head. She was still so on guard, too busy anticipating the worst to expect any bit of kindness from the man who was to be her husband.

“My entire existence has been destroyed.” She informed him with scathing tones. “There is nothing and no one that can make that fact better.” It was a wounding truth, Lenneth’s soul screaming an agonized protest over all that had been lost.

“Won’t you let ME try?” His was an absolutely serious expression, Lezard stepping closer towards her.

“You!?” Lenneth all but sneered, giving him and the hand that he had thrust towards her a wide berth.

“Why not me?” That infinite seeming patience couldn’t last, Lenneth shaking her head no in denial.

“You are one of Hel’s own, a blasphemer, a sinner, a NECROMANCER.”

“I am also your betrothed.” He reminded her. “The one Odin gave you to for a reason.”

“Yes, to be my punishment.” She all but spat out the word, all her open hostility laying naked in the glare that the Valkyrie gave him. He actually sighed in response, that put upon, exasperated sound grating on the woman’s last nerve.

“I wish you wouldn’t think of me like that…” Again that scoff of sound from her, that indignant disbelief expressed as Lenneth wondered just how else Lezard could expect her to think of him. 

“Taint on my soul aside...would life as my partner, really be so bad?” It was no idle question, but blinded as she was by her upset, Lenneth couldn’t think to see the bigger picture in the moment. To her, there was no advantages to be found, the Valkyrie only able to recognize in him the taunting truth of her spectacular failure.

“You would—will be cared for, no need or want neglected.” It was a cajoling tone that he tried to seduce her with, the wealth and the power that Lezard subtly tried to flaunt. “My life is such that you would be comfortable, free to explore any avenue, pursue any interest without worry...”

Again a step forward, Lezard almost within reach of her. “So little would be asked of you, your duties as few or as grand as you would deem fit...think of it Lenneth. Think of the freedom life as my wife would give you.”

“Freedom!?” She practically choked on the word, on the anger and disbelief she could not suppress. It was absolutely absurd to even imply, this life of a love that would chain her, that would see her will enslaved, her every thought and action molded in turn by it anything but freeing.

“How is THIS freedom!?” Anger hissed out of her, Lenneth abandoning all desire to be wary. Instead aggression thrashed through her, all attempt to be civil and in control lost as the leash around her feelings, her thoughts, snapped apart in the moment. “When I have no choice or real desire to be here!? This place, this life, these people...none of it of my own choosing!”

There was the rapid blink of his eyes, that amethyst color shaded with trouble. She wouldn’t heed it, she couldn’t, Lenneth taking a step towards him, and then another. “How can you ever hope that THIS life could compare to what I had in the Heavens? The home I had, the respect, and most of all, the purpose! You are mad, truly and utterly, if you so much as think a life spent warming your bed could soothe away the sting of what I have lost!”

“You’re right, it can’t.” THAT admission got her to draw up short, Lenneth wide eyed for one split second, and then her eyes narrowed.

“Then...!?”

“That is why I offer you so much MORE.” She couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop the derisive sound that escaped her. Or the look of disbelief that mocked him so. His was a strained smile that hinted at the end of a less than infinite patience that was rapidly running out.

“I DO.” For all his attempt to not come off exasperated, Lezard’s smile betrayed him. There was a tension in that expression, no light to chase away the unhappy darkness of his eyes. “I’ve the wealth, the resources, the people and the opportunities to lay before you feet, just about anything and everything that you could ever desire to do, made available to you. It’s a whole kingdom I’ve opened up to you, the awe and admiration of thousands, their devotion ready to number in the legion. You’d not want from lack of respect or purpose, the nation of Flenceburg yours to command, to make a home of, and find your happiness in.”

“The only thing that I have ever expressed a desire towards ruling over is that of the battlefield.” She informed him coldly. “I live...and I would have gladly died by the sword….if only….” She could not finish that thought, her face not as closed up and guarded as Lenneth would have liked, her anger hollowed out by the poignant pain of a memory. Of a tangible humiliation delivered to her by a fist that had not seen fit to put her out of her misery.

Brahms. His was a hated specter in her thoughts, that imposing menace utterly despised of long before he had ever stolen Silmeria from her family. He and his kind had run rampant for countless millennia, vermin that not even the best efforts of the Valkyries, had been able to completely stamp out. Their numbers simply grew at too alarming a rate, the curse and affliction that plague the undead, all too quick and easy to pass on. A cut here, a bite there, and anything that the undead didn’t outright consume, changed and not for the better.

This time the agitation that shook through her slim frame had nothing to do with the necromancer, nothing to do with him or his queen. Hel actually slipped free of Lenneth’s thoughts, the Valkyrie remembering her sister, and what had been forced on her, the crime that had been committed. The pain of it, the memory and the knowledge of what young Silmeria would awaken as and to, it left its tortured impression on Lenneth’s soul, its pain and the guilt such, that it expressed itself in the tortured sheen of her eyes.

She was in hell. Both figuratively, and ever one step closer to literally, the pain and the remorse, the failure, all playing their part in Lenneth’s self condemnation. The guilt that the woman felt, the immense sorrow and regret, it and the fact that she had been allowed to still live, it all was too much, no crueler fate to be found, than for the Valkyrie to continue on with her grief. With the awareness, those faults and missteps, Lenneth too little, too slow, too weak to have done Silmeria any real good. It wasn’t a kindness that Brahms had done the platinum haired Valkyrie, it wasn’t even a true mercy, Lenneth tortured by what she had done. 

In surviving, she had brought shame to her family’s name, had earned her King’s displeasure, and been damned in the process. None of it compared to the guilt that she had, Lenneth desperate to go after Silmeria even NOW. It would have been suicide to even try, her mortality a curse that in no way left her a match for even a newly made fledgling. 

A part of her still wanted to try. That part wasn’t silenced by fright, for Lenneth did not fear her own death. She in fact would have welcomed it, the solace of knowing nothing infinitely better than the torture that the Valkyrie continued to relive. Haunted by it, by the memories and that of her present reality, it was Odin’s enchantment that both damned and tamed the worst of the woman’s dark destructive impulses. It couldn’t ease the resentment, the betrayed feeling that spiked in her whenever she thought too long on Odin. 

Wondering again if her failure had truly been great enough to justify the God’s abandonment of his Valkyrie, Lenneth couldn’t stop the internal screaming that her soul was doing. That mournful wail that existed as the very beat of her now mortal heart. The pain of it was alight in the agony on her face, those blue eyes absolutely tortured. This was all her fault, her stubborn nature, and her love for her sister such that Lenneth had fought the enchantment, instead of allowing the magic to reshape her. Instead of the absolution that would have been found in love obliterating her very self, Lenneth had found a hollow victory in retaining her thoughts, her memories, and her many painful feelings. Run ragged by all that was raging on inside her, both the real and the manufactured, Lenneth wondered if she would go absolutely mad from the process.

She might already be halfway there, Lenneth suddenly gasping. She was wide eyed and startled, Lezard close, far too close, and she couldn’t muster up the strength to mind. Not when it was his hand touching her, a light touch on the arm that turned gripping when the Valkyrie made the attempt to step back. She couldn’t escape it, she couldn’t escape HIM, and it was then that Lenneth realized what HIS touch had invited. The manufactured love that she was bespelled under making a renewed attempt, those soft and weak feelings surging stronger, Lenneth’s anger beat back with a sigh. It was a sound so unlike her, not one of exasperation or of impatience, but more this breathless, womanly sound of appreciation. Her back stiffened at hearing it, yet still she could make no move to pull away. The love tried to wind tighter around her, and the former Goddess was suffocating for it’s attempts.

“Please.” She was barely aware of saying it, of thinking it. Her soul did its frantic wail, her erratic heart beat growing ever more wild. Her pride gave way to panic, Lenneth crazed, and lashing out. Without even thinking it, without even deciding to put action to thought, she had slapped him, Lezard’s face turned to the side for one instant. 

Lenneth couldn’t even enjoy what she had done, the woman instead staring appalled at him. “I’m….” But what could she be, what did she truly feel, the potion wreaking havoc on her at his touch. She couldn’t explain it, she wouldn’t, Lenneth’s sneaking suspicion such that it left her heart sinking. She hadn’t the nerve to test it out, for the first time in her life the Goddess a coward.

Again his face became this mask that hid his true thoughts and feelings from her. Lenneth braced herself, expecting his worst, but not getting it. 

“Forgive me.”

Her eyes could not get any wider with her surprise, Lenneth staring agape at Lezard. Her lips actually parted, but no real sound came out, the woman almost unable to understand what he was saying, what he was getting at! She then licked her lips nervously, not failing to notice the way that subtle action drew his eyes to her mouth. The Valkyrie quickly spoke, her tone ever still so cautious and guarded.

“For?”

He looked uncomfortable then, the red imprint of her hand on his pale cheek a stark accusation of Lenneth’s own misdeeds. He let go of her arm to bring that hand to his face with a wince, and told her that he had deserved that. She didn’t know what to do, what to say, the Valkyrie standing there a bit flabbergasted, shocked that he would excuse her violence towards him.

“I was not trying to overstep.” Lezard continued. There was a feeling there, some unidentified emotion that Lenneth couldn’t hope to place, the woman looking at him with eyes that were made soft with her confusion and by the lingering effects of the potion. The love was what tried to overwhelm her, that smothered her attempts at a true anger, the touch too soon, too recent, for Lenneth to fight back effectively. The worst of her anger dispersed to the fright and confusion, Lenneth could only struggle and flounder amid a tide of receding love.

It waxed and waned in strength, was fought back when the Valkyrie was at her angriest. It had also surged stronger at that simple touch done her, Lenneth realizing that this too was a weakness. One she could not afford to expose herself to, or let Lezard manipulate to his advantage.

“Then what were you trying to do?” Her voice was still too soft for her liking, the Valkyrie too shaken to be anything like her divine self. She still retained that presence of mind, still had the warrior’s instinct to be on guard, Lenneth betraying nothing when it came to his touch and the true effect it had had on her.

Again that uncomfortable look, as though he was embarrassed. “You seemed so distressed in the moment...so lost to everything but the pain of your thoughts...” Lenneth couldn’t deny it, the truth such that it had left her open to the touch that he had taken. Her lashes lowered somewhat, then lifted again at his next words.

“I AM sorry about your sister.” He said. “I am sorry about what has happened, to her, and to you.” He then paused, as though Lezard was bracing himself for another onslaught of hate. “But what I CANNOT be sorry for, is the fact that you survived.”

God help her, but that insipid love inspired a traitorous beat of her heat, the anger simply not strong enough to fight this. It was the enchantment that weakened her so, that made her soft to false sentiments and remorse, Lenneth just standing there, quiet and intent on his words.

“Your life is precious….” continued Lezard, with a sad sort of smile. “Infinitely so. Be you Goddess, or mortal, you are solely your own. A unique being of the cosmos, the universe itself would weep at your loss.”

“All life is precious.” Lenneth managed to speak enough to correct him. “It’s why we Valkyrie fight so hard to….to protect the realms.”

“It’s a great service that you do...” He agreed. “That need not end entirely, now that you are here.”

Her face burned then with shame, a humiliated color to her skin. “Yes, I know what Odin expects of me….”

“Forget about that, forget about HIM.” Lezard said. “What would you like to do?”

“Go after Silmeria.” She hadn’t even had to think, that desire an urgent press on her soul. “But...but as I am now…I wouldn’t stand a chance...”

“Not many mortals would…” He pointed out. “Even the strongest of Flenceburg’s mages would have a difficult time united against a just a few of the undead. Not without an assist from the divine.”

“Odin won’t help me...and neither would your queen.” Lenneth retorted, carefully folding her arms across her chest. “She’s too eager for this alliance to let my desires put at risk the treaty with such foolishness.”

“That she is.” Lezard agreed. “She cares nothing about you as a person...or even I. We’re all tools towards her goals...”

“You recognize this and yet you willingly still commit countless acts of sins in her name!?”

“Tis treason to do otherwise, and I rather put off my damnation for as long as I can.” The man admitted. 

“If you had denied her from the start, if you and your parents had had any sense in that regard...” Lenneth began, but stopped up short at the look in Lezard’s eyes.

“Damned or doomed, my fate would still be the same.” Lezard pointed out. “I can do nothing about where I end...”

“So you choose to play lapdog and curry her favor, to have a better life to enjoy?” scoffed Lenneth. “That is….”

“That is a hard fact of life to those born with promise in one of Hel’s holdings.” Lezard informed her. “It’s not a choice we’re given, it’s a demand. A calling that we are groomed from an early age to accept. To a hungry child, starving, there is no right and wrong, there is only the have and the have not.”

“That’s terrible!”

“I don’t deny it. But there’s never been a true chance for me, my life and my future mapped out at that first instant that my magic sparked.” He shrugged then. “I’ve been doing what I have had to, to survive ever since.”

“You look like you do more than just survive.” She had uncrossed her arms, sweeping them out in a gesture meant to encompass the building that circled around this garden. “You have thrived.”

He didn’t turn boasting, but neither did Lezard act ashamed. He merely shrugged, as if it were of no consequence, and maybe to him, it wasn’t. Lenneth lowered her arms, given him the regard of her quiet contemplation.

“Are...Are you happy?”

He blinked then, that slow, owlish movement betraying a sliver of surprise in his gaze. She didn’t apologize, Lenneth instead just patiently waiting, wanting to hear his answer, whatever it might be.

“I...” A hesitation then. “I am satisfied.”

“That is not the same as happiness.”

“No, it is not.” He agreed. “But it is the best I can do in a circumstance such as this.” A breath sighed out of him. “I am sorry to have dragged you into this mess of mine.”

“How can you be sorry for something that my King decided?!” Lenneth asked. “It’s not as though you asked to be saddled with such a troublesome bride!”

This time when he adjusted his glasses, it gave the impression that he was nervous. “I can’t imagine settling for any one else…” A grim smile followed that pause. “Selfish though it is.”

“Selfish it is, and not something of your control or MINE.” Lenneth retorted. “The bride that you got was dependent on whoever fell in battle. If I hadn’t failed, if someone else has been just a little more unfortunate, then they would be here in my place.”

He hesitated a beat, hardly looking reassured by what Lenneth had said. “I’m still...” Another pause, as though Lezard was struggling with his words. “Content with just who Odin sent instead.”

“Why?” The word sounded harsh, even to her own ears, and Lenneth couldn’t truly temper it. She didn’t want to, again eyeing him suspiciously, a sneer a twist on her lips as the woman tried to fathom what his answer could be. “It can’t be because I am beautiful.” stated the Goddess. “Not when ALL Valkyrie are.”

“No, it is nothing that shallow.” He agreed. 

“Well I don’t know what else it could be.” She admitted. “It’s not as if you KNOW me.”

“Ah but I have had glimpses of you.” Lezard said. “The true you shining bright as she fought against Odin’s magic.”

“Is THAT your reason?” 

“I do like a challenge.” He admitted with a slight quirk of his lips. “Anyone who can resist the effects of the Lord God Creator’s power, is that shade of impressive that should be admired. Lauded even. I admire your strength and your will, that steel determination that is seeing you through the worst of the tragedy that brought you here, the way you turn up your nose against the magic and your King’s decree. You are made magnificent in my eyes, the physical embodiment of my...of Flenceburg’s needs.”

“Needs?”

“A partner who can rule besides me rather than beneath me.” Lezard explained. “What good would a woman be who was made so enamored by love, that she couldn’t see to a nation’s people? You can do so much for them, be more than just the promise of the treaty fulfilled. You can be a beacon of hope.”

“Of hope?” Lenneth arched one platinum brow. “I cannot work miracles, especially NOW.”

“Yet you are one all the same.” Lezard insisted. “Already there have been whispers among the doomed and the damned, the hopes of the people as to what this alliance may ultimately mean for the afterlife. Just by you being here, they see a chance for salvation, for a redemption for their souls that need not lead them to the eternal torments of Nifleheim.”

“Do you all really think there even stands a chance of the afterlife being reformed?” She couldn’t stop her stunned response, not sure what was more absurd. That Odin would consider it or that Hel would. 

“Anything is possible, now that both sides are in talks with one another.” Was Lezard’s answer. 

“It would be too great a shift in balance, the power that your Queen would lose if she let loose the doomed to paradise.” 

“Maybe so, but maybe she would not be so greedy as to the souls of those not already dead.” countered Lezard. “Hel might not be willing to let go of what she already has, but she might agree to pardoning those considered doomed who have not yet died.”

“The bigger question then, is would Odin allow those into paradise?” continued Lezard.

“Not when he considers the heavens a reward for only those he deems worthy.” Lenneth exclaimed. “He has been absolutely adamant about THAT.”

“Ah but what if the requirements for what is and isn’t worthy were to change?” He seemed to be musing that out loud. “Then what...?”

She shook her head no. “It is impossible...”

“Is it?” Lezard questioned. “When the undead mutiple by the dozens upon dozens every day? When the faithful can’t produce enough warriors to keep up with the Heaven’s demands? What will it take for Odin to admit he is wrong about the rigid structure of his after life’s system?”

“Is this all just the desperate’s theories?” asked Lenneth. “Or is this really what you as the go between, discuss between Hel and Odin?”

“What is theory about fact?” It was a question for a question, Lezard seeming enlivened to the topic. “Have you not seen it for yourself? The amount of soldiers being lost to Brahms’ kind?”

“No army is without casualty…” It wasn’t that Lenneth was uncertain, so much as she was cautious, the woman not sure just what this man might already know. “Just as the einherjar fall to the vampire, so too do many of the undead fall to the Valkyrie. It is the way of this war...”

“That may be but in a war as endless as this one has thus far proven to be, every soul matters.” Lezard countered. “It is especially thus when one consider the finite resources that Odin himself is working with.”

“Finite resources?” It was a sharp, tart tone of voice, Lenneth trying to to come off as unconcerned. “Don’t be absurd. There are always more souls to be had.” The look that Lezard then gave her, had alarm bells going off in Lenneth’s head, for a far more urgent reason, the woman wondering just what the man and his Queen actually knew of souls and the situation in the realm above.

“More souls? When more often than not so many are damned and doomed to Hel? When mortals can’t breed fast enough to keep up with the Heaven’s demands?”

Unable to deny it, Lenneth was silent.

“What of the undead, that kill and claim what Hel does not? What of their ever growing ranks? Souls aren’t only the currency of the gods...they are preyed upon by all factions.” 

She couldn’t hide her growing unease, or how concerned she was by how on the mark Lezard truly was when it came to the imbalance of soul redistribution. Considered the weakest of all the nine realm’s races, it was an ironic twist, that humans were also the most valuable when it came to outfitting an army. From the souls of the fallen that the Valkyries culled and cultivated in Lord Odin’s name, to the doomed and the damned that Hel kept in tortured line, to the undead who not only killed but changed their prey into becoming monsters of a similar or even worse ilk, all three players in the battle for control of Creation had found use in the humans.

“That too has always been the way...” Lenneth hesitated. “But the shining realm has always prevailed.”

“Thus far.” Lezard corrected her. There was a dark undertone to his voice, one that made her shiver. “However, Brahms and his undead legions grow by the day, no limit on them as to who is or is not worthy, when it comes to outfitting the Vampire Lord’s armies. For each one slain, how many more sprout up to take their place?”

He waited a beat for an answer, one Lenneth didn’t dare give voice to. It screamed inside her head though, the thoughts of how there was less and less worthy dying, less and less souls who met Odin’s rigid requirements to enter into paradise. As the undead blight spread their plague across the realms, so too did Hel’s influence grow, more and more of Midgard lost, and with it, less and less devout that were truly worthy. 

It was far too easy to steal souls, to kill and turn turn them into abominations. The underworld itself was made bloated with the unfortunate, the doomed and the damned, those who had shunned Odin to live a blasphemous life full of sin, or those whose only real misdeed had been to die out of battle. It left less and less soldiers for the Heavens, the situation only worsened with each and every einherjar slain. A noticeable drop in the amount of replacements to be had, the Valkyries had thought it hadn’t yet reached such catastrophic proportions as to be a deciding factor for Odin to make an exception. To make ANY kind of allowances, and yet here Lenneth was, given away to one of Hel’s own, her king seemingly ready to ally with the enemy, and yet that wasn’t even the most startling of all. 

It was that Odin might be this close to admitting HE had been wrong. About anything, but especially about what might make a soul worthy. So much could and would change, and it wouldn’t be just the souls that might find salvation, but the world itself, the balance not only restored, but perhaps tipped over to the Gods favor. That alone might be worth making peace with Hel, might even justify and lend purpose to Lenneth being stationed here. 

Her anger still there, that hot burst of fury, was easing away with some of the Goddess’ fears and uncertainties. The worst of her doubts, Lenneth relieved to think there stood a chance that some good could come out of HER punishment. 

It didn’t make it any easier to accept. Not the punishment, and not the man who was the physical manifestation of it, Lezard a disarming sight to behold, with or without Odin’s enchantment wreaking its havoc on her heart in its attempt to influence her thoughts and her will. It wasn’t that he was anything extraordinary to look at, though she grudgingly supposed he was attractive enough for a mortal. But it was those eyes that were both so potent and devastating to see, a dark heat there that spoke of a barely leashed passion, a desire whose lust was solely focused on HER. 

It was so different from any kind she had ever known, this man not lusting for the battle, or for blood, not so much focused on power or greed, but instead blazing primal with a sexual intensity that would and surely had made a lesser woman tremble. Even Lenneth felt that shiver of unease, each time that darkness slipped into his expression, that potent desire such that when combined with Odin’s enchantment brought the Goddess this much closer to her sense of self being completely destroyed. 

She made an attempt to stave off the worst of it, to hold it and him at bay, by maintaining a distance between them. It made it easier to think that way, to have her own real thoughts, and not some insipid feelings of a love that flustered her at best, and made Lenneth a fool at worse. Made helpless by it, the Valkyrie Goddess was in effect, afraid. Terrified of the man, and the soft fluttering sensation of her heart skipping a beat at the simple sight of his smile. It and the fear helped bolster her resentments, Lenneth angry over such unwanted and unnecessary emotions. 

Love and fear had never had a place on the battlefield. Both were now the enemies that waged war on inside her, those tumultuous feelings quick to seize and capitalize on the slightest of weaknesses. They poisoned her heart, chipped away at her resolve, and drew strength from Lezard’s touch and his nearness. Their struggle inside her left Lenneth barely able to breathe, the woman all but suffocating on love, and its queer urges.

The Goddess couldn’t look at him, yet neither could she afford to look away. Wary of his nearness, of Lezard’s penchant for laying his hands on her, Lenneth found she needed to maintain a strict vigilance around him. It left her exhausted, although physically more sleep was the last thing that her body and mind needed. Instead it was comfort, a solace that could not be afforded, neither by him, and neither by her, no peace to be had for a Valkyrie who had lost everything.

It slipped into her expression, that weariness and pain, that inconsolable grief, Lenneth this heart breaking vision that only magnified her otherworldly loveliness. A stronger man than Lezard would have found her impossible to resist, what chance then did a man so weak and so damned, stand of having? The odds were against them both, each having their own blatant struggle, love and lust fighting to overtake the pair.

“Lenneth?” Even that voice of his had a powerful effect, one that had rippled sensation through her, at hearing that name whispered in so throaty a tone. It was paired with an expectant gleam, that amethyst colored gaze intent on the Goddess, the open hunger in his expression enough to make the woman sway an uncertain step back. 

“If left unchecked….” She warded off his concern and the touch meant to steady her. “Even the undead will soon find themselves in dire straights.”

“Oh?” It was a distracted tone, the man frowning his displeasure over Lenneth’s blatant avoidance of his hand.

“If they continue to….replicate as they have...they’ll gain numbers, but not the strength needed. Humans aren’t just a quick way to boost Brahms’ army.” Lenneth pointed out. “They are the chief sustenance for so many kinds of his loyal monsters.”

He blanched at that. “Won’t they just turn their hungers elsewhere?”

“Of course.” She gave a firm nod. “But among all of the existences in Creation, there is no easier prey to be had than those of a mortal slant. Finding and hunting a replacement will cost them...though we Valkyrie fight so diligently to ensure it never need reach that point.”

They did more than just fight, the Valkyries throwing away their own lives in an attempt to staunch the flow of the evil that would pervert all of Creation. Limits were tried and tested, poke at and prodded, and sometimes even surpassed. Those fierce deities battled to their very last, sacrificing blood, sweat, and tears, in a spectacularly violent end to their careers. The lucky ones DIED. The less fortunate however? Disabled, some even savaged, brutalized to the point they’d never not know pain. Lenneth wasn’t an exception in this. Her body might be hale and hearty, with nary a scratch on it, but her soul was battered, the shame of her failures coloring her every unhappy thought. Her mind tortured with this, and with the guilt born of surviving, Lenneth clung to and embodied her pain. It was all she had left, it and an anger born of the hopeless. It wasn’t just her chances that were taken away, it was nearly all of her CHOICE.

The seeds of resentment were there. For Brahms and for Hel, for the fate of the fallen, the many losses that had incurred. Towards the man she had been given to, and even in part, towards her King. It surged stronger inside her, all that negative energy, its pain and its hopelessness, its anger, and even the guilt, the only defense she had left. Against Lezard and against the love, that enchantment striving to overshadow the last, dying remnants of who she had once been. 

If---when that actually happened, the Valkyrie inside her would truly be dead. Lenneth lost, and in her place some addled female who smiled and simpered, and played to the lust, Lezard’s desires molding her into HIS perfect ideal. That was what frightened the Goddess the most, the idea of becoming a stranger, one not even her own sisters would be able to recognize let alone accept. 

She was just as lost as Silmeria, the woman realized. Except no one would be coming to put an end to Lenneth’s own misery. She was disgraced, a failure who hadn’t even had the good sense to accept the love that would have brought on the freeing oblivion of bliss. She still couldn’t, every feeling inside her heightened to the point that the one time Valkyrie was a trembling wreck. It left the Goddess reeling, fighting tortured thoughts that might drive her insane long before the love could ever set in.

“Maybe I AM tired.”

There was that slow blink of his eyes, Lenneth’s abrupt admittance perhaps too sudden and too swift a deflection from the topic at hand. She couldn’t muster it in her to truly care, the very strength and much of the fight leeching out of her with that reluctant concession. The Goddess could only grasp hold of the last remnants of her true self, wrapping the Valkyrie tight around her as those words called back to his from earlier. The rest that he had said she had needed, the reprieve its seclusion could give her. It wouldn’t free the woman from her thoughts, from all those worries and concerns that troubled Lenneth so, but at the very least, it would staunch the flow of any more distressing reveals. For in the moment, there was no room left inside her to deal with any more horrors.

It was in effect a strategic retreat, one meant to buy Lenneth some time to regroup and recover. Maybe then she’d be able to fight free of some of the more potent fears and resentments, to stand strong against the love that threatened near constant to overwhelm her. 

“Very well...” His eyes did not betray his thoughts or his feelings, Lezard a complete enigma in the moment. “Then allow me to at least escort you back to your chambers.” He had offered his arm to her, as though expecting Lenneth to tuck in close against him. She didn’t, she COULDN’T, the Goddess refusing to lay hands on him save to shove him away.

She couldn’t refuse him any more than that, Lenneth’s normally astute mind, so frazzled by the turn her life had taken, that she hadn’t paid strict attention to their surroundings. To the path they had run, the Valkyrie absolutely lost in this man’s expansive home.

“All right.” She said with the slightest of nods. He was still standing there waiting with an expectant hope she then crushed with a gesture. “Lead on….and I will follow….” She waited a beat, and weathered the sigh that he did not outright voice, before trailing after him.

The eyes that greeted them when they entered back into the kitchen’s area, were not just reverent and awed, they were curious. It wasn’t a curiosity born of confusion, Lenneth astute enough still to realize there was no shock borne of the sight of their Lord among them. That implied that Lezard had been here before, often enough that what should have been unusual was considered the norm. She wondered then why, wondered at what sad circumstance there could be, for the man to need to hide here that often. 

It wasn’t the most pressing of mysteries, or even the most urgent of matters. Lenneth easily filed it away as an idle thought, one that could and might be examined at some later time. The what and the where established, there was only the why, and right now the Goddess simply hadn’t it in her to worry about anything extra in the moment. Not when she could barely deal with her present, with the way her world had been shattered apart, each broken shard of her existence a cutting piece that bled pain in their wake.

Just as the looks she received cut her as deep, Lenneth not so much flinching from the desperation these people showed her. The worshipful slant to their gaze, the naked hope on their faces, these people hungry for something Lenneth could not give them. Uncomfortable with the promise that she herself embodied, the Goddess was all too happy to leave behind the large kitchen and the people who did their work there. 

“Will they talk?”

He stopped up short at that, shoulders sagging for one brief moment. “I don’t see how they will NOT.” Lezard said, and Lenneth didn’t have to see his face, to guess at the displeasure there. 

“Then I am sorry.” She said. “Your safe haven is lost.”

“I’ve others.” He had turned to her, his eyes so serious and dark, so at odds with the quirk of his lips turning upright in the slightest of smiles. “Someday I’ll show you…”

Out loud she was without comment, too busy fighting the queer feeling that had arisen from the sight of his smile, The flip flopping turns of her stomach cramping. It didn’t stop her from taking note of the sensual shape of his mouth, from the firm fullness of his lips, and the way his whole face was transformed with their curving. His was a very nice smile indeed, and Lenneth despised it. Loathed it and it’s power, the feelings that it triggered inside her, the love who magic had manufactured, making her feel attracted to Lezard.

It was an unfair advantage her King had given him, upsetting the balance inside her, as love tried to tip Lenneth over to Lezard’s favor. She wouldn’t easily betray just how weak this love made her, just how effective it was in wreaking havoc on her heart. The struggle played out inside her, made the stress of it show in the strained expression of her face. The Valkyrie would wave off his concern, the woman again stating that she was tired. A bow of his head would have him acquiesce, and eventually they would get back to what had been deemed Lenneth’s chambers.

For one uncertain moment, she lingered in its doorway. The room itself was as grand as so much of his home had already proven to be, no way to feel claustrophobic in the space provided her. There was a large, ornate window, it’s silver gilded frame wrought with a complex design. She took note of it with interest, that window perhaps the only other means to escape from this room, even with them being several stories up off the ground.

The height wouldn’t have been a problem for Lenneth had she still retained her divinity. Now however, she was all too conscious of the limits of her mortal frame, and how a slip could be the deciding factor between broken limb and remaining whole and healthy. She wouldn’t have cared if it was her neck that had been snapped in such a fall, but one of the things Lenneth could not reconcile herself to was surviving yet again, only to be at even more of disadvantage than she already was. It made her suppress a shudder, Lenneth repulsed at the thought of an injury and it possibly being permanent, but neither could she entirely discount the window as a last effort means for escape.

Not that she thought she had any true pressing need for that in the moment. Her betrothed was playing perfect as the gentleman, nothing too inappropriate, save for a touch here and there, and the occasional invading of the Valkyrie’s own personal space. She didn’t though believe for a second, that the worse between them had passed, the memory still there and potent, Lenneth swearing she could still feel the warmth of his kiss lingering on her lips.

She had tasted his eagerness then, it and a desire that ran so deep that Lezard could have, and in all likelihood would have taken things further if Lenneth hadn’t found the strength to shove free of him. The heat burned it’s color into her skin, Lenneth flush faced and angry over what had proven to be her first true brush with a man. It wouldn’t be the last, this man’s lust such that it could only be put off for a time. Heaven help her then, the Goddess knowing how quickly she’d crumble under a love’s assault that only grew stronger with time and touch. 

There was no escaping it, the fate that Odin had cursed her with. His magic would have it’s victory over her, it’s love and the way those manufactured feelings would change her, not half as punishing as her guilt. The burden of her failure, the loss of her sister, and the many others under her command, an offense that would have been horror and shame enough, without the added ordeal of being sent to one of Hels’ most prominent nations and afflicted with an enchantment meant to bring the Valkyrie to heel.

She wasn’t yet tamed, leashed though the Goddess might now be. The fight was still in her, it lending itself as aid against the frantic flailing of her feelings. It all swarm to vivid life inside her, that maelstrom of thought and emotion a daunting, exhausting thing that she struggled against. She was caught in it’s undertow, every step forward seemingly lost to the current that tried to pull her under. Love in all it’s forms tried to overwhelm her, tried to make her desperate for and devoted to one man in particular. It was an ironic twist then, that the shape those things took form of, was warped, Lenneth indeed feeling desperation, but it was a desperation whose energy was put in the form of her fight, the woman battling for the right to retain her own self control. 

She was just as devoted, hopeless though it might be, Lenneth determined to thwart Odin, his magic, and the man he had deemed a fitting match for her failures. Striving to do the impossible, the Valkyrie girded up for battle, took a cautious step into the room. Nothing happened, aside from the questioning chirp of the song bird. It was still in its cage, off to the side of the room, an excitable little witness to what ever might occur.

On guard against the worst happening, Lenneth drifted deeper into the room. The door closed behind her with a soft click, that sound stiffening her spine though she didn’t turn in it’s direction. Instead, she met Lezard’s eyes, and actually folded her arms together in front of her chest in a gesture meant the convey her implacable will.

He took stock of her manner, before daring to speak. “Tonight was meant to be a celebration.” Cheeks ablaze with that angry heat, Lenneth chose to bite back a tart word for in her mind, there was nothing worth celebrating. Not tonight, and not about this situation.

Again that sigh that wasn’t voiced, Lezard doing a slow blink of his eyes. “But I see now, that it is simply too soon.”

“I am tired.” She reminded him. “Overwrought with enough feelings and struggles that I need not add to that burden.”

He nodded his head. “I am in complete agreement. I will make the excuses needed, to get them to forgive your lack of appearance at tonight’s meal.”

“I did not realize skipping out on dinner was such an offense.” Lenneth tilted her head to the side. “Is this more than mere mortal etiquette at work here…?”

“Not so much an offense, as it would be a disappointment.” clarified Lezard. “Your arrival has been anticipated with much eagerness.” He didn’t say the next out loud, but the passionate intensity of his gaze practically screamed that Lezard had been and still was the most eager of all. 

The flesh of her cheeks burned hotter in response, the fight as it existed insude her still unable to completely protect her from such a look in his eyes. It was a trepidation like beat her heart then did, anxiety cramping her insides in a way that might almost be fright. She could only pray that it did not bleed out into her expression, that vulnerability bad enough without it being exposed to he who stood the most to gain from any such weakness.

That weakness an opportunity, Lenneth unfolded her arms so that she could touch at a stray wisp of hair that had escaped her preferred braid. It was a gesture telling of her nerves, though she didn’t yet realize it. 

“Do they doubt Odin’s intentions that much?”

“Would they have reason to not?” countered Lezard. “Considering we in Hel’s keep, have been ignored at best, your King considering us a threat not worth bothering with? Just word of you alone is not enough. We needed proof that we could see, that we could even tangibly touch.” He stepped towards her then, as though the man desired to take that touch for himself. “There are many who doubt this alliance as real…your presence here can dispute their misgivings. Whether you mean to or not, you embody the hopes of so many.”

“Ironic that...” Lenneth’s voice was an agonized murmur of sound. “To be the hope of so many, when I have none to give to myself!”

“That too can change, given enough time.” 

The change was what she feared, it and time united against her. Together they’d see her transform into something unrecognizable. A woman in love, enslaved by it and desire and all that that entailed. Without meaning to, she shuddered, Lenneth unable to reconcile herself to the sexual submission that would one day be required. Not when she could barely handle a kiss, that mingling of mouths stealing not only her lips, but the very breath from her. 

Ill and uneasy, Lenneth did not know much about sex beyond the most rudimentary of basics. Certainly she could not envision finding a true pleasure in such an act, shame and embarrassment a more apt name put to the mysteries of a couple’s bedroom.

“Lenneth...” In front of her now, Lezard’s fingers caught at that rebellious strand of hair, then gently tucked it over her ear. Such a seemingly innocent touch had her freezing, Lenneth staring at him wide eyed and shaking. Even her lips seemed to do their own tremble, the gasp not quite escaping her, as her mouth fell open with a round o of shock. 

His lips quirked in a show of appreciation, that amethyst gaze gleaming with that longing look at her mouth. “Ah, do excuse me this moment of weakness.” A thumb flitted a caress over her bottom lip, as fingers took gentle hold of her chin. She had thought he mean to kiss her, but somehow Lezard kept it at just a touch.

It was enough. The love bubbled up within her, coming on stronger so that she gave an involuntary jerk of her body. When next she blinked, she had backed several steps away from him, Lezard standing there with his hand still up. 

“Don’t.” She snapped. “Do not seek to take advantage of me!”

“That wasn’t my intention...”

“Then what WAS?” Lenneth demanded, still shaking. “You know of Odin’s enchantment, of what that magic will do to me...why add to my ordeal? Why force on me any more than what you have already!?”

There was guilt in that gaze, Lezard seeming to flinch in response to her question. He offered up no answers, didn’t try to make excuses, his only expressed sorry that of the repentant vibe around him.

“The outcome is inevitable. I know and understand that. But there is no need to rush me headlong into what cannot be reversed! When I do fall, I want it to be on MY terms. Not yours, not Odin’s, not even Hel’s!”

Another rapid blink of his eyes, but at least Lezard was nodded as though in agreement. “It’s admirable to want to steer your own course.”

“I want more than just to be admired! I want to have a choice! That is the true horror of the wrong Odin has done me…this love stripping me of the free will needed to make my own decisions. That is just ONE reason why I fight the inevitable so hard!”

Save for that inexplicable guilt, he betrayed nothing of his inner thoughts. “I know I can’t ultimately win against it...” She continued. “Yet give me the courtesy to at least try!”

“Is Odin’s enchantment truly that powerful? Is there truly no way to combat it to the point of breaking it?” Lezard asked.

She blinked, startled at the absurdity of what he was asking. “No Valkyrie has ever...”

“Have any ever even tried?”

That stopped her up short, a consideration given that hadn’t been there before. That of the love potion, and how normally it was a choice given, the few Valkyries who had willingly gone down that route, actually wanting it’s magic. Those few had never had cause to fight, had never had reason to combat it’s effects. They hadn’t the anger and resentment and guilt that Lenneth now had.

For one split second, a small kernel of hope bloomed inside her, ridiculous though it was to entertain it. The thoughts still came, the desperate grasping at straws as the Goddess wandered if there was a glimmer of a chance left to her.

That hope given was still dashed, Lenneth shaking her head. “Even if I broke free...then what?” She asked him. “Your Queen and my King still expect us to marry.”

“You’d be yourself though.” He pointed out. “Rather than a slave to a magically induced love.”

“Why would you want that?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Lezard countered. “I’ve already told you. I want a wife to rule besides me...not under me. You need to retain your wits for that...and for the….intricacies of dealing with my court.”

She wondered about that, though Lenneth’s thoughts were still too focused on the hope that Lezard was trying to give her.

“Do you really think I stand a chance?”

“I think you’ve shown the determination and strength to seize hold of your fate and make it your own.” That smile of his, so warm and so earnest, softened her upset color to a paler pink. “It’s just one more reason for me to admire you...”

She couldn’t find the words, thinking it a bit too soon to express a gratitude for the hope given. It beat stronger than ever, that hope nurtured inside her by Lezard’s belief. That warmth inside her, inexplicably softened her guarded stance, Lenneth relaxing a margin around him. The Goddess let out a breath, so much tension lost with it’s escape.

“I’ll leave you to your rest now.” She nodded, and actually followed him to the door.

“Is it really okay for me to not put in an appearance at dinner?”

“They will just have to deal with the disappointment.” Lezard looked as though he had so much more to say to her. Conversation was shelved for the time being though, the man sketching a quick, respectful bow to her, before disappearing out into the hall. She caught sight of curious green eyes, and quickly shut the door, not wanting anything, anyone, to disrupt the burgeoning hope Lezard had helped give her.

That warmth in her chest, Lenneth fell back against the door with an expressed sigh. Her back against the smooth stone, Lenneth brought her hand over her breast, as though trying to tangibly hold on to that feeling. She was shaking, both figuratively and literally, the hope still not strong enough to allay all her fears. The impossible still loomed over her, Lenneth under the geass of Odin’s enchantment. Her will was strong, but would that determination alone be enough? She couldn’t answer, anymore than she could allow doubt to resettle its hold on her. 

So consumed with her own personal struggles, there wasn’t much room in her head for anything else. Not even thoughts for her sisters, Lenneth prepping herself up for the battle that would define her very soul.

 

To Be Continued…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one ended up being a “short” chapter too. Long wait for it too. I actually wrote the first ten pages of this back in January. But then I got super sick for most of February, so couldn’t work on it. Had to focus on recovering. Well by the time I got better, it was hard to get back into writing...I really struggled with the latter half of this chapter. For the most part I like it, except for like the last page and a half. I could not seem to get it written to my satisfaction and honestly I wanted this chapter over and done with. I MAY come back to tinker with it when my brain doesn’t feel so frazzled.
> 
> This also ended up being a bonus chapter. I just felt like the way the last Flenceburg chapter ended, that I had to continue the scene...my hardest task was getting them to the point they would finally leave that garden.
> 
> Thirteen will also be a bonus chapter, as it’s a Lezard POV, where he has a scene of confronting Odin that wasn’t in the original version of the story. Which was such a oopsie to neglect, since I realized that if I don’t show Lezard in communication with BOTH Gods, it would look weird to suddenly have it happen so late in the fic. But I fear saying anymore, would get me to go into spoiler territory….  
> Additonal Update: 3/23/2019 I was really unhappy with the last two pages of twelve, so I trashed that, and rewrote it into something I don’t cringe over. It ended up being longer too, like just over three pages to replace the initial bad two!
> 
> Laters!
> 
> Michelle


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